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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714610">Cactus Flower</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritzy_bird/pseuds/Ritzy_bird'>Ritzy_bird</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Absolutely No Character Death, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Asexual Character, Blasphemy, Capitalism, Crimes &amp; Criminals, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Love Confession Isn't The Climax, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Blood Mention, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, No Ridiculous Misunderstandings, No Smut, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, Tenderness, actual communication</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:13:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714610</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritzy_bird/pseuds/Ritzy_bird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin is just a quiet, pious, and knowledgeable member of the Church of the Willow. He's also a seer- rarely seen outside the country's capital, and is more than happy for the safety and order his role as a servant of the city provides him.</p><p>Marco is just a kindly, generous and experienced merchant for the recently revitalized Silver Feather's Guild. There's nothing he can't procure for any buyer- Rich or poor, and he does so at the lowest price out of the good of his heart. </p><p>Or so they'd have everyone believe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armin Arlert &amp; Marco Bott, Armin Arlert/Marco Bott, various</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sunlight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I still don't know if we're supposed to use the slash or the &amp; in shipping tags and at this point I'm too afraid to ask. So I just use both.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Just as the morning dew begins to dry up, the sun finally rising out of the pink clouds in the sky, the first of the early caravans begin slowly passing through the southern gates of the capital.<br/><br/>The horses pulling cargo both in and out were slow, either with weariness from a long night of travel, or a sluggish reluctance for what could be anywhere from a day’s or even week’s long journey.<br/><br/>And on the other end of life on the road, the passengers felt just the same. Most of them, anyway.</p><p>“Look at them all-!” The loud, energetic complaint begins from a man leaning from the bed of the carriage he’s riding in.<br/><br/>“There has to be two- <em> no </em> , <b>three</b> whole scores of traders pouring out of the city today alone!” He gestures, dramatically, at the line of travelers being checked out at the gate.<br/><br/>With a sigh, no doubt wishing they’d switched places as to who would lead the caravan that night, the man driving the caravan responded, “ <em> Jean </em> , not everyone leaving is a trader, and there’s definitely not <em> sixty </em> caravans either.”<br/><br/>“ <em> Next year </em> ,” Jean breathed, “We’ll have to come earlier. This festival’s a big deal for a lot of these people, Marco!”<br/><br/><em> Every year </em> , Jean proposed the same thing. But every year, Marco’s feelings on the matter remained the same.<br/><br/>“We can’t make it to <em> every </em> city’s <em> every </em> festival- Their harvest festival was just fine last year, but you wouldn’t know that, would you?” There was a joke in his voice, an implication that Jean only scowled at.<br/><br/>With a huff and a firm, but slow elbow to Marco’s shoulder, Jean retreated back into the enclosed bed of the carriage. There was some mumbled comment about meade, or maybe the word was ‘mean’, but it was nothing for either of them to talk about further.<br/><br/>Not long after, it was their turn to be inspected at the gate. Them and all four of the carts behind them, of varying contents and sizes.<br/><br/>Marco’s tiredness was gone in an instant as one of the city guards waved to him, a smile spread across her face, “S’that who I think it is?”<br/><br/>While he didn’t immediately recognize her, Marco mirrored the reaction as he slowed their caravan down to a halt, grinning just as widely as he stepped down from the driving box of the front carriage.<br/><br/>“I should think so,” He responded, pulling out a folded set of papers from within his coat to hand over. Their manifest of cargo, as well as their license to sell, was a necessity to most merchants. Yet it was all but a formality for Marco’s group.<br/><br/>“S’nice seeing your type back here- Wish you were local!”<br/><br/>The guard quickly leafed through the pages, which Marco noticed in quiet satisfaction, and after a quick scribble on the final paper did she hand the stack back.<br/><br/>Marco gave a genuine nod, “It’d make my life a thousand times easier if we were.” He tucked the papers back into his coat securely.<br/><br/>“But then,” He chuckled, “How would we find anything good to sell?”<br/><br/>Jean hopped off the back of the carriage, flipping up the back tarp to prepare for the inspection; Which they both now knew would be quick and painless. As it usually, and hopefully was.<br/><br/>“Ahh well, yer right about that I suppose. This’ why I leave all the selling to people like the in-laws,” She began, making a quick peek into the back of the first carriage.<br/><br/>Marco quickly racked his brain for who they might have bought, sold, or considered trading with the last time they were here. They knew most, if not <em> all </em> , of those types in this city and every other they passed through. Even if they chose not to do business for one reason or the other.<br/><br/>“In-laws? <em> Pttcht </em> !” Jean mock spat, moving towards the next carriage right with the guard, “How’s someone as lovely as you manage to work these early hours <em> and </em> find time to get a husband? Just when I thought I’d settle down!”<br/><br/>She only laughed to high heavens at that, paying not much attention to the next cart for inspection.<br/><br/>“ <em> You </em> Silver types are always so lively- <em> yes </em> , you’re a little bit late to beat out the Fritz’.”<br/><br/>The Fritz’! If he now recalled it, they were competent glass blowers, though not remarkable. Marco could always count on Jean to make up for what he lacked.<br/><br/>“We’ll have to consider some wind chimes then,” Marco piped in, climbing halfway back onto the carriage. “If you could put in a good word for us first?”<br/><br/>They’d only been amusing her, but their reputation would likely prove true. Yes, without a doubt, at least two of their carriages would be adorned with glass chimes by the time they were heading the opposite direction through the gates.<br/><br/>“I could put a rush on it!” She piped after her laughter died down, “S’mostly sold out after the festival. You’ll have to come through earlier next year!”<br/><br/><em> That </em> , Marco would definitely get an earful about later.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>It had been a busy morning of directing their carriages to different parts of the city. Two to the eastern side by the river, one up the ridge past the iron gates, and the two that Marco and Jean were responsible for unloading not far from the city square.<br/><br/>This was not the most profitable time of year for them to be here, hence Jean’s push for them to arrive earlier in the Spring to capitalize on their first big holiday of the year. But they had other cities to frequent, and whole other countries to travel through during the colder months.<br/><br/>The recently restructured Silver Feather’s Guild members would have appreciated if Marco took a more <em> efficient </em> route from location to location, one that was better in time with the potentially most profitable times for trade in each city.<br/><br/>Marco had too much sway in the matter, though, and none could deny that between his gentle demeanor and Jean’s… <em> flexible </em> vocabulary, they made enough profit to keep things as they were.<br/><br/>Or, that was the case in every <em> other </em> city. Something about Willow’s Hill was eating into their inventory more than they were making back.<br/><br/>Usually, in large cities like this, Jean might take the carriage to the richer districts, and Marco might visit the slums, and they’d leave the majority of the middling sales to their other more than competent, experienced comrades.<br/><br/>First they thought it was poor inventory counting, though the higher ups insisted it was an inside-job. But it was only ever in <em> this </em> city that it happened, and so Jean and Marco had decided on it being the work of someone clever.<br/><br/>As Jean unloaded boxes and barrels from the back of one cart, Marco shifted and reorganized more delicate wares on the other. They were both very careful, or rather, <em> patient </em> , to get their work done. Though no one who didn’t already know them would have guessed.<br/><br/>“Don’t throw your back out, <em> again </em> , Jean!” Marco warned, stealing a glance behind him and not far beyond Jean’s peripheral vision.<br/><br/>Loudly, a box slammed down on the shaded stones to the side, small bits of straw shaking out from the odd hole here or there. Jean breathed out through his nose, shoulder muscles tensing. He hadn’t dropped the box so much as thrown it down.<br/><br/>“Oh,” Jean relaxed in all ways but the scowl on his face. “Don’t worry about me!” There was a sarcasm in his voice a little <em> too </em> convincing for Marco’s liking.<br/><br/>“You’re the one being too slow- <em> too lazy </em> .”<br/><br/>Marco’s eyebrows furrowed, but he resisted turning around entirely to face Jean, instead keeping his focus in the opposite direction as much as and as best as he could.<br/><br/>“Must be your old age!”<br/><br/>At that Marco stole a sharper glance over towards his partner, though didn’t let the comment distract him for too long.<br/><br/>“Hang on now, I’m not even thirty-! <em> And you’re-- </em> ”<br/><br/>“Careful now! Getting hysterical in your old age could be dangerous…. Maybe you should retire and hand over the family business.” Jean breathed out calmly, <em> condescendingly </em> .<br/><br/>Though his words alone were enough for Marco, at least, to understand that the only one being hysterical was Jean. As if Marco would ever retire, at any age for that matter.<br/><br/>“ <em> Family </em> business?” Marco scoffed under his breath, smiling if only to keep back the desire to laugh. “I don’t remember marrying your sister.”<br/><br/>Jean didn’t have a sister. Or a brother.<br/><br/>“What…? And why not? You’ll have to keel over and die some day, and I’m not even in your <b> <em>will</em> </b> .” Jean mock-scoffed back, picking up another barrel slower than was necessary.<br/><br/>Jean was most certainly in Marco’s will.<br/><br/>“All this talk about my health… should I be worried about whatever it is you put in my canteen last night?”<br/><br/>Marco was quite healthy, for all it was worth. Tired and in desperate need of a hot bath after nearly a week without a roof over their heads, but healthier than the horses that pulled them here.<br/><br/>Along with his creative tongue, Jean had a sort of sixth sense for certain things. Like when they were being watched.<br/><br/>“Excuse me…?”<br/><br/>Marco turned towards the quiet voice, unsure if it was the source of Jean’s creative small talk or not.<br/><br/>From a sunny alleyway to their east, a plain, hooded figure approached. The sun caught in Marco’s eye, but not so much that he couldn’t look the man in the eye.<br/><br/>Though upon closer inspection, Marco noticed that they weren’t wearing a hood so much as a set of robes. Plain brown, with plain brown gloves outstretched and holding a green sack of some kind.<br/><br/>At first he thought; A beggar. But his robes were clean and his face was… very soft, and healthy looking. His eyes were blue, <em> bright </em> and clear, no tiredness to be found on what few features Marco could make out between the glare of the sun.<br/><br/>“I see you’re both merchants; and you look like you must be weary from whatever travels you’ve had.” Their voice was louder now, but still soft and unassuming. Plain, like the very clothes they wore.<br/><br/>Marco said nothing, just standing there half squinting and wondering what this person could possibly want.<br/><br/>“Surely… no matter your faith, you could share some of your wealth with the church of The Forest’s Matron?” He extended the sack out further, expectantly, the smallest hint of a grin on his face.<br/><br/>With a quick glance at the man’s feet, Marco put the pieces together. This man was no <em> beggar </em> , no, not with woven ‘shoes’ of straw. He was a genuine member of this country’s most common faith. They were naturalists, as down to earth as a group of people could get without literally eating mud, if he recalled correctly.<br/><br/>“...We <em> do </em> serve the people first, of course. Anything helps.” The smile twinged a hair wider, and Marco felt himself reaching for the inside of his deeper coat pockets.<br/><br/>“ <b> <em>Hey!!</em> </b> No, get--” Jean snapped loudly, the sound of wood scraping against stone. “Get <b> <em>back</em> </b> here!”<br/><br/>Marco couldn’t help but turn to see as a whole <em> group </em> of quiet thieves ran off with a small handful of smaller barrels and boxes.<br/><br/>Furious, Jean threw the wooden harness off of the horse nearest to him, which hadn’t been attached since they’d parked in preparation for this <em> very </em> potential outcome.<br/><br/>Before he could watch Jean ride off in a rage, though, Marco was quick to whip right back around to grab hold of the <em> other </em> culprit. Marco was <em> not </em> a violent man by nature, but he was fit, and knew how to throw his weight around.<br/><br/>Lunging forward, he grabbed hold of the soft voiced man’s robe, yanking it, <em> and </em> the man wearing it, back against the wall of the very alleyway he’d originated from.<br/><br/>There was no way in this world or the next that an entire flock of thieves, no matter their skill, could sneak up on <em> both </em> Jean and Marco and steal so much without so much as a pindrop to be heard.<br/><br/>The only explanation, as confused as it made Marco feel as he pinned the man to the wall with both hands now, was that this stranger had to have been a seer. A real, <em> true </em> member of the church, not a well-disguised charlatan.<br/><br/>“ <em> What </em> is your problem?!” Marco demanded, dark eyes piercing as he looked down into the fearful, bright blue ones that deceived him.<br/><br/>What use could a member of the church, a highly revered and rare <em> seer </em> have for stealing a few near-useless containers of wheat, bobbles, and cloth!? What use could he have of any monetary gains, of even the slightest precious stone or jewelry?<br/><br/>Shaking his head, but never struggling, the criminal only shook his head slightly, mouth parting briefly only to clamp shut again.<br/><br/>Marco wasn’t sure if the man was truly afraid, or if he even had reason to. Seers had all kinds of magic, so he’d been led to believe. Including ones that would be very effective in self defense.<br/><br/>This man was such a mystery.<br/><br/>“ <em> Why </em> would you help them?” Marco breathed out more calmly, face softening, though his grip stayed firm.<br/><br/>The seer took a shaky breath, eyes darting around to all that could see. And oh, were there <em> many </em> .<br/><br/>Attacking a member of the church, let the gods forbid, specifically <em> a seer </em> , was a legitimate crime. One that held a heftier price than a few stolen goods- <em> even </em> goods from a reputable seller like a member of the Silver Feather’s Guild.<br/><br/>What Marco was doing, was also considered, in fact, <b>a sin</b> .<br/><br/>“I...  I <em> owed them </em> , I had to. I…. I <em> had </em> to.” The seer whispered out, staring into Marco’s eyes the whole time.<br/><br/>Slowly, Marco’s grip loosened. His face softened almost completely now, though his jaw was tense now, near-creaking with every breath.<br/><br/>But still, he let the seer go, and he backed away. It took what felt like a long time to breathe out one final heavy sigh, before turning to look at the passerby around them.<br/><br/>Marco wasn’t <em> too </em> worried about repercussions. It wasn’t like he attacked this seer without rhyme or reason, and the man was unharmed, truly.<br/><br/>“I…” He looked back to the devout criminal, this <em> gifted </em> deceiver. “I understand, needing to pay off your debts.”<br/><br/>Part of Marco was glad to see that the seer was still there, even now after his face was surely etched into Marco’s memory.<br/><br/>“You should always....” Marco sighed, relaxing as much as he could for what the situation could allow him. “‘Pay them back fast.” He didn’t have to be an experienced merchant to learn that, or sympathize with it either.<br/><br/>Still, the seer said nothing. He only stared, arms hanging tensely at his sides.<br/><br/>The entire surrounding area was tense, but mutters grew quicker, and louder, and it was only a matter of time before someone called a soldier over what had clearly been a violent attack on one of the city’s holy seers.<br/><br/>“You just helped steal from the Silver Feather’s Guild, and, I’m Marco Bott. Who’re you?” He introduced himself plainly, as if this were a minor nuisance.<br/><br/>In truth? That’s really all it was.<br/><br/>The seer was frozen for a moment, but then, like a cornered bird he made a break for it. Disturbingly silent as he turned the corner and ran away without another word.<br/><br/>Metal clangs of ironclad soldiers approaching grew louder, but Marco couldn’t take his eyes off the fading brown figure growing smaller in the distance.<br/><br/>He wondered many things at the time, and would continue to throughout every stay in the city. Marco was sure of only two things;<br/><br/>One, the investigation he would surely be put under would yield nothing, as no seers nor any other member of the church would come forward to claim they’d been abused.<br/><br/>Two, no charges would be brought on a seer, nor anyone else for the stolen inventory, as Marco could respect someone else’s debt paid. Even if it meant his loss.<br/><br/>But the only thing that really mattered, was the seer's name. Marco would pay more than a few crates of foodstuffs and thick blankets of goose down to know that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Shade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's not about what you say, it's what you mean.</p><p>It's not about what you mean, it's what you do.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nighttime brought its own kind of busywork that ordinarily kept Jean and Marco engaged, but all they had to keep their minds occupied now was the silence tightly wrapped around them. It had been a <em> long </em> day, and with the moons just now reaching their peak in the sky, no doubt tomorrow would feel even longer.<br/><br/>Marco was thankful to the city watch for keeping such care of the carts of goods left abandoned after the incident, for all those long hours of interrogation and inspection. His legs might’ve been even <em> more </em> grateful if they’d passed such things, namely the horses, back into their possession <b>before</b> releasing them.<br/><br/>Jean’s silence was different from Marco’s. It was fuming, bitter. Frustrated beyond even his exceptional vocabulary. He wasn’t able to catch even a single thief, let alone the stolen goods.<br/><br/>And it wasn’t a matter of profits lost, or time wasted. No, just his heavily damaged pride. No one should have been able to outrun him or his horse, not in broad daylight.<br/><br/>The other side of their quiet trudge back to their preferred inn of the city, however, was still just as tense. Marco was so horribly <em> confused </em> .<br/><br/>He’d sworn up and down that the crafty thief he’d assaulted couldn’t have possibly been a member of the church, despite the testimony of dozens of citizens claiming otherwise. There was a part of him that didn’t want the seer to get into any sort of trouble, yet he tried to convince himself that it was just to spare themselves the scrutiny, the magnifying glass.<br/><br/>It gave him a headache, and filled him with a strange mix of emotions he was far too tired to try working through despite this long walk being his best opportunity to do so.<br/><br/>The two of them had replayed the scenario over in their minds over and over again….<br/><br/>“Where have you two been!?”<br/><br/>The worried gasp came from a younger woman who’d been leaning against the wooden walls of the inn, and brought them both out of their silence.<br/><br/>“ <em> Hmph </em> ! Jail, Sasha. We were in jail.” Jean scoffed out, pace quickening as he headed towards the entrance without so much as a glance in the woman’s direction.<br/><br/>She looked taken aback slightly, brown eyes blinking rapidly at the unexpected comment. Had it been any brighter, she might’ve been able to spot the sour look on Jean’s face before she bothered opening her mouth.<br/><br/>Though if they had a coin for every time Jean was in a mood, they could close up shop for good. Marco was confident that Sasha wouldn’t hold a grudge, even <em> if </em> Jean was being particularly rude this time.<br/><br/>Marco didn’t have the energy to be angry, barely had enough to respond to begin with. Though it was his responsibility at the end of the day, and so he gave a quick nod in Sasha’s direction, urging her to follow.<br/><br/>“Did you pay for the rooms?” He asked over his shoulder as they walked inside.<br/><br/>The warmth that greeted them was a comforting change to their day locked up and subsequent night trudging through the cool night air. The idea of a hot bath was clawing at the back of Marco’s mind, but he knew he’d have to ignore it for now. Everyone needed an update, even Jean.<br/><br/>“ <em> Of course </em> we did! I mean, we were all worried sick about the both of you but we weren’t planning on sleeping outside, either!” Sasha half-laughed the response back, much to Marco’s relief. He couldn’t handle <em> two </em> of his companions being in a foul mood tonight.<br/><br/>“I’ll make sure to pay all of you back tomorrow, sorry.” The apology was just above a mumble, the beginnings of a better mood, albeit forced, coming through.<br/><br/>Sasha made her way past them both and opened what must have been the room the other were waiting for them in, and was quick and quiet to shut it behind them all once they were through.<br/><br/>Jean pulled out the last remaining chair available and let himself collapse onto it, groaning.<br/><br/>One of their other traveling companions, conversely, stood up from his chair to offer it to Marco.<br/><br/>“ <em> Thanks. </em> ” Marco sighed, glad for the respite.<br/><br/>Seeing all his friends and associates crammed in a room together, clearly hiding the concern on their faces, didn’t make this any easier for Marco. Even Sasha, second only to Jean at acting, looked as if she were finding it hard to conceal the worries on her face.<br/><br/>How long <em> had </em> it been since either Jean or Marco had been arrested? Not once, in anyone’s memory, had it ever been them <b>both</b> .<br/><br/>“Our problem with the missing inventory, is a seer.” Marco announced, eliciting confusion and intrigue from everyone in the room.<br/><br/>Every past occurrence, whoever had been in charge of the market square inventory has sworn up and down that they never saw any shady figures, that they’d kept great track of the inventory and triple counted it at every turn.<br/><br/>It must have been a relief to everyone who’d heard, that no one had lied. This of course, was assuming any of them lacked faith in each other. Which none in this room ever did.<br/><br/>“What’s a <em> wallflower </em> want with, with what? Art, bread, and, I don’t know, coats? In the middle of Spring! I’ve never seen any of them when things went missing the last times, either.” Lesley, the only one among them who’d been mostly raised in this city, quickly piped up. His furrowed brows only proved to Marco even more how <em> strange </em> the mysterious seer must have been.<br/><br/>“And a <em> seer </em> ? Couldn’t they just <em> ask </em> a local for any of that and get it no problem?” Sasha asked.<br/><br/>Jean, who’d at some point gotten his hands on a drink, took a long gulp before gently setting the mug down on the table. “What could a seer even <em> do </em> to make me lose track of <em> four </em> rats in the middle of the day?”<br/><br/>None of them were <em> experts </em> on magic, but at least a small handful of them had seen it at least once or twice. To their knowledge, that is.<br/><br/>“When… when he ran <em> away </em> , I couldn’t hear him. I didn’t hear him come up to me, either. I don’t know what he did.” Marco’s eyes narrowed as he explained, staring off and losing focus on the here and now. Too concerned with replaying the scene in his head yet again.<br/><br/>“So then, you were in jail because...?” Sasha’s question made the room fill with a grim silence.<br/><br/>That part they hadn’t gotten to yet, of course, and Jean only rolled his eyes at the revealed information.<br/><br/>Sasha’s tact, Marco reminded himself, was the only thing holding her back from leading her own caravan of merchants without supervision.<br/><br/>“Marco <em> pummelled </em> the seer in front of <em> everybody </em> !” Jean answered, annoyed.<br/><br/>A small smile spread across Marco’s face, and he turned to make sure Jean saw it.<br/><br/>“I did not <em> pummel </em> anyone. But I did grab him, and,” He looked around the room, with a reassuring, firm gaze. “It has <em> nothing </em> to do with anything else. Our cargo’s been checked at the gates, they had no reason to search it <em> again </em> .”<br/><br/>The amount of emotions they were putting them through, Marco might have to pay them out a health bonus.<br/><br/>“And as far as the record shows, I didn’t touch any member of the church. Obviously,” Marco tilted his head, giving it a small shake. “Whoever the seer is didn’t come forward. They probably never will.”<br/><br/>Aside from Lesley, and even that was pushing it, none of them were very well versed in the kind of punishment that could be dealt out against members of the church. Of ‘wallflowers’.<br/><br/>They had no <em> real </em> power or authority, at least they hadn’t in living memory. Laws still applied to them, but as far as Marco understood it, the royal family let the church deal with its followers as they saw fit.<br/><br/>But who had even <em> heard </em> of a seer committing theft? What would the punishment for that even <em> be </em> ?<br/><br/>“How <em> did </em> all the other unloads go, by the way? Any problems?” Jean sighed, seemingly disinterested now in the mystery of the thieving seer.<br/><br/>Sasha gave a thumbs up, “No problems!”<br/><br/>Lesley let out a relieved sigh, and nodded. “Smooth by the river.”<br/><br/>“Good, good, that’s fantastic. Now, Marco,” Jean gently kicked Marco’s ankle with the tip of his boot. “ <em> Where’s </em> our stuff?”<br/><br/>“I,” He rubbed his temple, “I pulled some strings, they’ll release it all to us some time tonight instead of tomorrow. I’ll stay up and go over the inventory, get the horses in the stable- <em> don’t worry about it </em> . I’ll handle it, just….”<br/><br/>He surveyed the room a final time, and reluctantly stood up from his seat.<br/><br/>“No word on the seer. Jean will look into it.” If it weren’t such a strange situation, he’d have gladly enlisted Lesley’s help in the foreign matter.<br/><br/>“Oh? I’ll handle it? Okay. Yeah. <em> Jean </em> will handle it!” Jean’s laugh was hollow, but he followed Marco’s lead and left his seat as well.<br/><br/>Sasha opened the door for them, “Well, we’re just glad you’re both alright!”<br/><br/><em> No </em> , they were all glad that they were <em> all </em> going to be alright. The sentiment was the same, though, for them anyway.<br/><br/>“Mhhmm, <em> thanks </em> Sasha.” Jean patted her on the shoulder gently as he passed by.<br/><br/>“Get to sleep, alright?” Marco suggested, giving a gentle wave on his way out.<br/><br/>There was a slight bustle heard, as most of their comrades filed out of the room and into various others. Marco would have to, <em> politely </em> , remind Sasha not to book more than three rooms next time. But he could always do that later, if he or Jean remembered.<br/><br/>Jean walked up to the front desk, tapping the aged wood lightly. “Evening there, ma’am, I hope our cavalry over there haven’t <em> bothered </em> you any.”<br/><br/>Marco was too tired to make the scoff he so desperately wanted to let out be heard, but if this was how Jean wanted to let off a little steam, then so be it.<br/><br/>The older woman gave pause, setting down a pitcher before extending a half-smile to him. “Not at all. They’ve had us filling baths all night, though I’m sure the last one’s cold by now. Corner room, west corridor.”<br/><br/>Cold bath, hot bath, it didn’t matter. Marco hadn’t properly washed since they left for Willow’s Hill, unless one could count scrubbing down in a river for a few minutes. Which, Marco did not count.<br/><br/>Upon receiving the key, Jean gave a warm thanks and headed in the proper direction, Marco following close behind him.<br/><br/>“...You’re in such an awful mood.” Marco pointed out quietly.<br/><br/>Jean only shrugged and grunted, which was no surprise to Marco. It <em> had </em> been a stressful day, and Jean did <em> not </em> enjoy being questioned. He wasn’t a great liar, and so it was fortunate that he’d had zero knowledge of the mysterious man being a seer prior to their arrest.<br/><br/>“The horses are probably alright, too.” Marco added.<br/><br/>Jean snorted, “ <em> Yeah </em> , well, the economy of this place won’t see another Silver <em> cent </em> if they’re not!”<br/><br/>Marco forced a chuckle, for they both knew well and good that a choice like that wasn’t Jean’s to make. It wasn’t his, either.<br/><br/>A dying fire greeted them as they entered the room, and as expected, there was a large wooden tub in the far corner of the room filled to the brim with what had to be now-cold water. There were two beds; One small and thin, the other large, thick, and wide.<br/><br/>Upon closing the door behind them, the men looked to each other. It was a silent challenge to each other as to who would get to bathe first, and who would get the nicer bed.<br/><br/>Jean was quick to unbutton and shrug off his vest, letting it fall to the poorly swept floor.<br/><br/>Marco breathed out his nose, eyebrows furrowing. “ <em> Jean </em> , I’ve been up for well over a day’s time, <em> I smell awful </em> .”<br/><br/>Unbuttoning his shirt next, Jean shook his head, and proceeded to throw his short sleeved top down to the floor with more force.<br/><br/>“You say that like you <em> ever </em> smell any different. I <em> warned </em> you about that <em> witch </em> and you let him get away!”<br/><br/>As if that were any justification over how <em> exhausted </em> Marco clearly was. Marco also bathed <em> regularly </em> , so the insult Jean had flung his way was incredibly childish.<br/><br/>“ <em> Jean </em> , if I’d kept hold of him then I’d still be jailed right now. We both would!”<br/><br/>The unbuckling of the belt was next, brass loudly clinking together as Jean was all too forceful in unfastening it. Louder still as he tossed it to the floor, too.<br/><br/>Marco closed his eyes, defeated. He didn’t have the energy for this.<br/><br/>“I get the nice bed.”<br/><br/>It was all Marco said as he slowly pulled off his heavy leather coat. He sluggishly made his way over to the larger bed, and draped the coat on one of the bed posts.<br/><br/>Jean didn’t make any snarky comments, nor any vocalization of his triumph. Perhaps if he did, Marco didn’t even notice, as he instead was far too wrapped up in removing his own clothes. His tightly tied boots in particular were giving him trouble.<br/><br/>Marco would have so liked to simply kick off his socks and collapse into the bed for a short night’s rest right then and there, but the flickering fireplace just wouldn’t allow for it.<br/><br/>He got up to add more pre-chopped logs to the fire, and grabbed the worn poker to, hopefully, excite the embers.<br/><br/>“ <b> <em>Fuck</em> </b> <em> me </em> that’s cold!” Jean cursed, stumbling backward and nearly tripping over his own leg at the shock.<br/><br/>Marco paid him a narrow-eyed, satisfied glance over the shoulder, reveling in Jean’s small misfortune. No doubt, Jean knew this without even having to notice.<br/><br/>Next time? Marco decided Jean could lead the caravan’s night-time shift.<br/><br/><br/>“You’re… quiet.”<br/><br/>It had been some time since Jean had committed himself to the cold bath water, and he’d finally decided the silence wasn’t going to do it for him. It rarely ever did.<br/><br/>Marco looked away from the documents he’d laid out on his bed earlier, too worried about their inventory after being interrogated to lay down.<br/><br/>“Just, thinking.” A lazy attempt at reassurance.<br/><br/>Shifting in the bath, Jean gave Marco a more pressing stare.<br/><br/>“You’ve barely scrubbed your back; I know you can reach it, don’t slack just because the water’s cold!” And Marco returned his attention to his bed.<br/><br/>“ <em> What </em> are you thinking about?” Jean wasn’t amused.<br/><br/>It was a good question, truly. But a pointless one, as Marco hadn’t been paying mind to anything. Not his own thoughts, not his own actions, or his aching body and pounding skull.<br/><br/>Everything Marco had been doing in these most recent passing moments had been automatic, and he’d likely counted his money over three times now. Reorganized his inventory manifest more than five times. Shaken the dust off his coat at least twice.<br/><br/>“...He said he <em> owed </em> them.”<br/><br/>Marco looked back to Jean, and chose to repeat himself louder, “That seer said he <em> owed </em> those thieves. But, what kind of debt does any member of the church acru?”<br/><br/>Jean stayed quiet, listening. When Marco had fully spoken his mind, <em> then </em> he’d throw his opinion out. An uncommon practice for him, but a welcome one nonetheless.<br/><br/>“I mean, <em> even </em> if he did, what’s to stop him from not repaying it? He’s a <em> seer </em> , not just any other, any other <em> wallflower </em> .”<br/><br/>That was the term Lesley had used, wasn’t it? Marco didn’t fully understand its connotations. He knew it wasn’t an official ranking, but he’d heard it enough times here to know that it was one way locals referred to members of the church. Though, the way Lesley had said it, sounded a tad condescending.<br/><br/>Marco grew quieter again, head fuzzy with different possibilities. “They’d have to be… holding something over, or maybe <em> against </em> him for him to keep at it. This can’t just be happening to <em> us </em> ?”<br/><br/>It happened every year, nearly every time they came into the city. This had simply just been the first time they were <em> sure </em> they were being stolen from.<br/><br/>This was also the first time any of them were hearing about someone from the church being involved.<br/><br/>“ <em> So </em> , what’s the ruse for…?” Marco sighed, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead.<br/><br/>Jean rested his arms on the edge of the tub, leaning forward, “Marco, I haven’t seen you overthink this much since you chose our first route out of Caduhm.”<br/><br/>Marco resented that, but he wasn’t about to bring it up.<br/><br/>“What, do you feel… <em> bad </em> for this person? They <em> stole </em> from us! They’re probably stealing from <em> everybody </em> --....”<br/><br/>Jean was probably right, and Marco probably <em> was </em> overthinking things for no good reason.<br/><br/>“ <em> Marco </em> … not everyone who owes someone something is a victim.”<br/><br/>Resentment wasn’t the right word this time.<br/><br/>“I’m <em> just </em> saying,” Jean sat up, quick to correct himself. “I don’t know <em> everything </em> there is to know about magic, or Willow’s Hill, or these ‘wallflowers’, but, I mean…. Look, I just, <em> highly </em> doubt that there’s anything some crappy middling level street thieves could use against someone with as much power in this city as a seer. It just doesn’t add up.”<br/><br/>Marco unclenched his jaw, but only to grind his teeth. It didn’t add up. Jean just wasn’t getting what Marco saw.<br/><br/>There was some level of <em> real </em> fear in the seer’s eyes. Marco just couldn’t figure out what they could possibly have been afraid of. Surely not being injured, no, Marco would never be as stupid as to <em> truly </em> attack a member of the church. No one was <em> that </em> stupid.<br/><br/>It couldn’t be getting caught, either. Whatever the punishment for stealing may be, no seer would hang for something like that. Especially when, as far as the Silver Feather’s Guild goes, nothing of immense value was stolen.<br/><br/>“Forget it.”<br/><br/>Marco just didn’t have the energy.<br/><br/>“I’m exhausted, Jean, I… I don’t even know, I’m just exhausted. Wake me whenever they drop off our carts.”<br/><br/>In the morning, perhaps Jean would be more responsive to his concerns.<br/><br/>“ <em> Goodnight </em> , you Chivalrous Prince, you!” Jean mocked, not entertaining the tension any further.<br/><br/>In the morning, <em> perhaps </em> , Marco would be more open to his reasoning.<br/><br/><br/>Though it wouldn’t matter; In the morning, the returned inventory would have been counted, and a warm bath would be there to greet Marco long after the sun had risen.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>For the rest of their short week in Willow’s Hill, Jean and Marco didn’t speak of the incident with the seer. As ordered; neither did any of their traveling companions.<br/><br/>It wouldn’t <em> remain </em> a mystery, at least not forever. But there was business to be done, and they’d already been slowed down <em> significantly </em> !<br/><br/>Between the stolen merchandise, day long interrogation, and Marco’s unintentional day off the following day? The higher ups in the guild wouldn’t <em> care </em> that they’d cleared the company for insider-theft! There were margins to meet, among <em> other </em> things.<br/><br/>This last day in the city, though? The rush, the bustle, the last minute changes both minor and drastic, it was the closest thing to ‘fun’ any of them could quite consider their trade.<br/><br/>Days like this, Marco could understand why Jean was so eager for them to arrive earlier in the season to experience the city’s big Spring festival.<br/><br/>They weren’t the only travelers who got to experience the push to sell, either. They <em> couldn’t </em> be, else there would be no trade to begin with.<br/><br/>“--hear you can’t afford <em> not </em> to make this sale! Weren’t you folks robbed just earlier this week?”<br/><br/>Marco had avoided the rumor-mongering as best he could, though it <em> was </em> a necessary evil of the job.<br/><br/>“-- <em> arrested </em> !”<br/><br/>Sly remarks of wordly traders and customers alike were always abuzz where there was money involved. Side-glances, too, rarely went unnoticed. The subtext between the subtext, at the end of the day, was a method of haggling prices that was often Jean’s responsibility to manage.<br/><br/>“--still not sure if they were <em> really </em> with the church or <b>not</b> .”<br/><br/>“I’m sorry, are you implying I’d put my hands on someone of <em> true </em> faith? That’s rather presumptuous of you.” Marco tilted his head at the latest trader’s accusation of Marco’s crimes.<br/><br/>Playing dumb was always a fun method Marco liked to practice. To play the fool, and force a pressuring individual to <em> fully explain </em> their accusations and leading questions, could always leave them dumbfounded and embarrassed.<br/><br/>“Tell me: Where <em> do </em> you get your wool from? It can’t possibly be recycled from the <b>untreated</b> batch I sold to the Morrison’s textile shop <em> last leaf fall </em> , could it?” Marco asked loudly, feigning intrigue as other nearby customers realized the poor deal they were getting.<br/><br/>It was a bit petty, <em> yes </em> , and Marco was actually quite in favor of reselling undesirable goods, <em> yes </em> …. But was it also a bit petty to try and use a ridiculous story about Marco’s health as a way to convince him into rebuying the very thing he sold to someone else in the city at an exuberant rate? <b> <em>Yes</em> </b> , absolutely.<br/><br/>Every city, every <em> town </em> really was quite different, and perhaps that was why Marco could never settle down and work locally. Hearsay had a nasty habit of sticking around, and the hard swallows and triumphant clicks of the tongue only got harsher the longer they stayed in any one place.<br/><br/>The sooner they were done for the day, the sooner they could head off to meet the other half of their caravan, which had gone to smaller nearby towns. The sooner Marco could get his mind off the chatter regarding the mysterious wallflower.<br/><br/>Marco had barely noticed Jean make his way across the market square, and was startled  for a moment as he felt a hand brush against the base of his spine as Jean passed.<br/><br/>He was quick to act as if it hadn’t happened, pulling out coins he hadn’t intended on handing over just a second ago.<br/><br/>“It actually sounds lovely- I’ll take four.”<br/><br/>Someone had to have been watching Marco from behind.<br/><br/>That or Jean had rediscovered his sexuality again, which, while entirely possible? This didn’t seem like the time or the place it would strike.<br/><br/>Bewildered, the crude merchant in charge of this large stall of eatery in all varying materials, was quick to take the coins. A quick receipt exchange was done, and Marco shoved a set of fork bundles into one of his large inner coat pockets.<br/><br/>What a shame that they normally ate soup when traveling.<br/><br/>Marco was used to being <em> stared at </em> , but Jean wouldn’t be tipping him off if it were an admirer or another trader trying to size him up due to his status.<br/><br/>It could have been a soldier, preparing to bring Marco in for another round of interrogation.<br/><br/>Some overconfident pick-pocket hoping to lighten the thick inner pockets of Marco’s expensive coat.<br/><br/>A wallflower, with blue eyes.<br/><br/>The idea twisted up Marco’s gut, and sent a sensation up his spine more thrilling than Jean’s surprise warning had. It put the image of the mysterious criminal in his mind’s eye clearer than any of the rumors, accusations, and questions anyone else had brought up this afternoon and every day prior.<br/><br/>Marco didn’t like this strange power the seer now seemed to have over him. Even less so, knowing deep down that this was definitely not what the man had intended with his charade.<br/><br/>The only magic at work here was Marco’s ability to, as Jean had warned, <em> overthink </em> .<br/><br/>He chose to imagine imprisonment instead, a strange twinge of hope that he’d be arrested again!<br/><br/>Just having that half-hope at all should have spooked him, instead, Marco just let himself smile wide at the ridiculousness of it. What a joke it was.<br/><br/>Lacking the sixth sense Jean was gifted with, Marco could only do his best to not turn around, to avoid stealing glances away and around at the busy streets of the main market of the city. Whoever watched him was careful enough to stay behind him, and so, by that logic, Marco was very slow to turn around if ever the need arose.<br/><br/>It was frightening and exhilarating all at once, to know that it could be any varying good or bad thing that might befall him should he meet the gaze of this <em> stalker </em> . Yes, a stalker. That’s how Marco would have to imagine it, until he was <em> sure </em> .<br/><br/>Today just might be the day someone finally murders him. Wouldn’t that be something?<br/><br/>Though, as the sunlight began to wane, Marco realized there was one last thing the Silver Feather’s Guild had to take care of before they left for their next destination.<br/><br/>Stopping by the sparse stall of the Fritz family, Marco extended a slow, friendly hand.<br/><br/>“I’m told you could do a rush-order for me; I’m Marco Bott, I’m with the--”<br/><br/>“The Silver Feather’s Guild! Yes, <em> yes </em> , my daughter in-law said you might come to see us! Happy to see she’s not just spinning more <em> tales </em> she hears at the gate after all!”<br/><br/>It was a welcomed interruption, and Marco was pleased when the other, much older man reciprocated the handshake with an easy grip that was still firm. Marco had faith that they would, in fact, honor the rush-order.<br/><br/>“Couldn’t leave without fitting you into our schedule, I hope it’s not too much to ask!”<br/><br/>White lies: A merchant’s best friend.<br/><br/>Mr. Fritz extended his arms to gesture at the sparse wooden table between them, “Rush or no rush- we’ll still be getting up to quite a bit of work just this week alone.”<br/><br/>Marco surveyed the table and all the glass ornaments, plates, and the occasional sketch of some more high-end work they’d previously done for the elite in the upper hills.<br/><br/>“...I think I know exactly what I’d like.” Marco started, reaching into his pockets for payment.<br/><br/>“Straight to the point, and you know what you’re here for- <em> you know </em> , my other daughter’s just about your age, hasn’t settled down yet- you must know how city women are, and I think you’d get along just fine!”<br/><br/>Marco smiled through the desire to laugh, and handed over a palm full of coins he’d finger-counted and pulled from his pocket quickly.<br/><br/>“I <em> do </em> know,” He mused, hoping that the strain of keeping his laughter in wouldn’t be confused for <em> blushing </em> . This thing often happened with those who knew of just <em> how </em> profitable the Silver Feather’s members were.<br/><br/>It also helped that Marco wasn’t getting any younger, and, well, was blessed with a kind face.<br/><br/>“Though, we <em> are </em> on our way to the Bluestone Mountains tonight, we <em> will </em> be back before the dry season hits.”<br/><br/>Dry season, otherwise known in <em> this </em> country as; Wedding season.<br/><br/>Mr. Fritz gave a hearty laugh, catching onto Marco’s true meaning behind the words. “Ahh! Forgive me, <em> back </em> to business, shall we?”<br/><br/>The white lies, however, gave Marco another idea.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>In the darkness of early morning, where only the birds felt the nerve to stir noise into the otherwise quiet gardens of The Church of the Willow, a <em> new </em> noise was heard.<br/><br/>Another week, and another rotation of the Gardener’s duties; A tradition designed to keep things interesting.<br/><br/>Which, <em> it didn’t </em> .<br/><br/>This <em> new </em> sound, though…?<br/><br/>“Do you hear that?” The man was annoyed, but curious nonetheless. Part of him wondered if he’d heard it the night prior, and hadn’t taken note.<br/><br/>“Beautiful morning to you too, Armin.” The woman he was to take over for lifted her hand up, wrist flicking and sending out a small warm light towards the source of the noise.<br/><br/>“They’re wind chimes- <em> gifts </em> , from some noble-type. Reese had to put them up yesterday morning. They look nice, don’t they?”<br/><br/>Armin didn’t pay them mind for more than a moment, looking back to her with a scowl, “Since when do we <em> decorate </em> with ordinary citizens’ gifts? There’s not even a holiday soon.”<br/><br/>She frowned at Armin. Though her face read of disappointment, her voice was that of exasperation. “Since when do <em> you </em> care about the rules? Besides,” She gave a shrug that was more of a shoulder roll.<br/><br/>“Remember that <em> vermin </em> posing as a Gardener earlier this month…? The one they never found? That foreigner merchant that attacked them sent these to <em> apologize for the misunderstanding </em> . I wish he didn’t bother- <em> we don’t need </em> anyone’s charity. Especially not from <em> them </em> .”<br/><br/>Armin was dry in the mouth, eyes now trained on one of the many wind chimes that dotted the archways around the garden. They were simple, glass wind chimes, the centerpiece of each of them a bird in a different pose.<br/><br/>“Like them...?” He lowered his gaze to meet his fellow Gardener’s eyes, confused.<br/><br/>“ <em> Yes </em> , I already told you; Some noble type with more money than he knows what to do with. But,” She sighed, beginning to walk past Armin and no doubt, off to her room to sleep. “I suppose we can’t really be turning down gifts from anyone with pull like that. <em> Politics </em> . We’re separate from the government now for a <em> reason </em> , but whate--”<br/><br/>“ <em> Cynthia </em> , who are you talking about?” Armin demanded, turning to face her, fists at his side.<br/><br/>She turned, her brow raised, “I don’t know? The,” She waved her hand in the air, “Silver Water? Silver Wing? White Weather? Silver <em> Something </em> ! A bunch of millionaires with nothing better to do than throw their money around, as if it means anything.”<br/><br/>Armin turned back around, looking up at a wind chime to see the gentlest hint of pink creeping into the sky. He had work to do.<br/><br/>“ <em> Misunderstanding </em> ?” He mumbled, breathing growing short for a moment as a strong gust of wind caused the chimes to ring out again, louder than the birds.<br/><br/>Cynthia was not of the same mind, caring more about the ethical implications than the event that spurred it onward. Oblivious to Armin’s crime, and by extension, the reason for the wind chimes.<br/><br/>She kept walking, giving a final wave. “Good morning Dandelion.”<br/><br/>“Good night, Moonflower…” Armin answered back on instinct, barely registering the exchange.<br/><br/>Left in the wind, surrounded by chirping birds of glass and flesh alike, Armin let the sky grow brighter with each passing minute. He was fully aware it meant he was running out of time, but, he found it hard to care.<br/><br/>“Why… apologize?”<br/><br/>There really must have been a misunderstanding after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hhhh commente</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Soil [Part 1]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>To love is to know.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You may notice that I've tacked on an extra chapter. WHY IS THIS? Well, a few reasons.<br/>1) I find that most readers prefer chapters that are on the shorter side, and are easily digestible in one sitting. This isn't the full extent of what I planned for this chapter, but it ends in a good spot where I don't feel I'm leaving you on a cliffhanger. Also this chapter is at like 4.5k words and that's a LOT for some people in even a one-shot, so, yeesh!</p><p>2) I didn't hit my deadline! I wanted this chapter out on Saturday, or Sunday at the latest. It's Tuesday as of writing this. So please take this!</p><p>3) I thrive on feedback, and the more I throw at the ether, the more feedback I'm likely to get.</p><p>4) I have quite a lot planned for this chapter, and while I might prune some of it down, I really like what I have here and I think anyone who's into this rarepair might like seeing more consistent updates even if that means the actual meat of the rarepair isn't here yet.</p><p>5) I'm worried if I don't put out what I do have NOW, I'll stress myself out over having a massive chapter and whether or not it's cohesive. So, this seems fitting.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <br/>
  <span>From the thin air of the mountainous regions, south through the dry valleys, across the smallest villages of the wetlands, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> cutting back north again towards Willow’s Hill; No route was ever the same for Marco’s caravan. But, in the warmer half of year they always returned to the centrally located capital.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Navigating the varying terrain and unpredictable weather of the country on its own provided little room for error, or recreation. No </span>
  <em>
    <span>distractions</span>
  </em>
  <span>. With the mystery of their vanishing merchandise finally solved,  there shouldn’t have been any.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The truth of it, however, would have to be shared with the rest of the Silver Feather’s Guild. It would be odd explaining how they let the real thief get away, even at the risk of an international incident. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jean was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the boss would say something like “It’s the principle of the matter!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Sasha insisted they had nothing to worry about. The guild cared more about keeping their product, that it wouldn’t matter if the culprits weren’t imprisoned.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The youngest member of their joint caravan, Alex, was </span>
  <em>
    <span>immensely</span>
  </em>
  <span> worried. They often made unprovoked comments about how the Silver Feather’s might lose credibility if they opened an entire case into the church. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or,</span>
  </em>
  <span> how it could send them all destitute and packing, should the guild cut their losses and repossess their members’ insurance.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Someone always stepped in to provide reason, to remind everyone how they’d been prepared for worst case scenarios from day one. Even if their current problem would have required far too much creative thinking to predict.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Marco never minded any which wayward theory, or reassurance. The Silver Feather’s Guild might’ve been one thing, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>politics</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t his forte, but he might never be able to fully grasp the motives of even one man of faith. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Especially a </span>
  <em>
    <span>seer</span>
  </em>
  <span> within the Church of the Willow. What kind of aspirations they might have had, how anything could compel them to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> outside of what they were told.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The further they got from Willow’s Hill, the less it clouded his mind. It was obvious that the answers would only be found with the seer in question. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>closer</span>
  </em>
  <span> they became on their way back towards the center of their trade route, though, everyone had the same question on their mind. Not a soul was brave enough to ask it.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Now that they knew who was responsible for all the stealing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> exactly were they going keep it from happening again?</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>There is no shortage of dark corners and back alleyways for the morally challenged to meet and discuss business in Willow’s Hill. For its simplistic name, there were </span>
  <em>
    <span>many</span>
  </em>
  <span> hills throughout the city.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>If not dark, then at least there were plenty of places well hidden. Under-patrolled would work, too.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Though, most would rather remember the city for its sunny ridges. Here, where even those in poverty were gifted with the charity, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>gracious</span>
  </em>
  <span> care, from the servants of the church. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Like the sunlight themselves; Always around to help those in need, regardless of what that might be.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Armin did like to take his own liberties as to how far that help extended, of course. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It didn’t make any difference to him, traversing these old pathways that had seen more than their fair share of violence- Had</span>
  <em>
    <span> heard </span>
  </em>
  <span>more than enough pain. Similarly to them; Armin could do nothing about any of it.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Not in reality, anyway.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Still, the only fear he felt as he navigated through the slums by the river, was the possibility of a broken cobblestone cutting through his grass slippers. Outside of that? No person would </span>
  <b>dare</b>
  <span> harm him. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>His rather drab, unassuming uniform the Church of Willow provided him, while fragile and prone to tears, was a better defense than any of his magic would ever be used for. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>If only the concept of being invincible gave him any sort of thrill, he’d come around more often.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>There</span>
  </em>
  <span> he is!” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>A small handful of people pushed away from a wall, varying in how much they stretched to steal a glance Armin’s way.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They all donned clothes of mismatched sizes, and questionable cleanliness. Hand-me-downs and cheap leftovers from the river market, no doubt. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>But these were not the type of hungry, starving lower class citizens that were begging for their next meal. Their fit physique and hidden weapons told Armin all he needed to know.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’ve been dodging me for weeks, Armin- what gives?” The borderline growl came from the only one of them who didn’t gawk.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He had the broadest shoulders of them all, and was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>filthiest</span>
  </em>
  <span>, despite Armin knowing the man had more than enough money to present himself better.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Armin paid no mind to the attitude as he came to a stop, the smallest of smiles on his face. “I don’t make it a habit to come running whenever someone asks for me. Since when are you an exception, Eren?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>There was a mock disappointment in his tone, a half-show for Eren’s ever changing circle of degenerates. </span>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eren straightened so his height more obviously surpassed Armin’s. There was an impressive amount of dirt smeared across his cheek, and a nasty gash on his chin. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It might’ve been intimidating, to someone who didn’t know him.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely</span>
  </em>
  <span> made off with those supplies and you don’t think having a talk about it afterwards would have been a good idea? You’re supposed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>smart</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Armin kept his gaze level with Eren’s, equally unphased. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>His smile dropped. If this was about professionalism, then Armin had sore news for them all.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’ve been thinking about that, you know. And, I’ve decided.” Armin clasped his gloved hands together in front of him, thumbs slowly rolling over each other. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Decided</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Eren tilted his head and leaned closer, confused.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You can’t steal from the Silver Feather’s Guild anymore.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eren’s nose flared, a loud breath coming from his nose. A long silence came after it, only ending with the loud slam of Eren’s calloused fist on the stone wall he’d previously leaned against.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The rest of his delinquents looked to each other with caution. The sight of Eren’s temper couldn’t have been news to any of them, even </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> only some of them had only recently taken to the group.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And why’s that?” Eren’s voice was unexpectedly low. Not the burst of enraged shouting that they’d all have been smart to expect in the first place.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Giving a look over each individual, Armin noticed that none of them looked</span>
  <em>
    <span> any </span>
  </em>
  <span>better than the last batch Eren dragged around. Not a single one was recognizable, upon a closer look, either. The entire group could have been new.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Whatever it was they stole this time, probably wasn’t worth anything better than the last….</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“One of these days,” Armin returned his gaze to Eren’s. “You’re going to steal the wrong thing from those people, if they have as much money as I’m told that they do.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Researching </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> outside of his religious duties was quite the challenge for Armin to take on, given his position. Most everyone was too intimidated to talk to the likes of him.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eren’s fist clenched and relaxed, over and over, enough times that Armin wasn’t sure how this meeting was going to end. He might be spared Eren’s shouting after all!</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“One day, we’re going to steal the </span>
  <b>right</b>
  <span> thing, and we’ll be set for a long time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> promised to help me do that!” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Armin wasn’t well versed in things of monetary value, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> know that the richest and most powerful people wouldn’t take kindly to having ‘the right thing’ stolen from them.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Not that it ever bothered him </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he’d also never been found out before, either.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter. You know I’d do anything for you, Eren, but what do you think happens when you steal enough from them? Eventually? They’re going to want their things back. And one of them saw my face, </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> closely.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Closely? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Closely</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Eren’s voice rose with increasing confusion.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Armin sighed, looking down to glance at his hands. He hadn’t intended to go into full details about what he’d experienced. Not only had it been shocking, but the aftermath had left him wondering. Conflicted. It was the major reason why Armin had pushed back this meeting so many times.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“They knew we were there, which doesn’t shock me, given how long we’ve been at this. But the one I </span>
  <em>
    <span>spoke</span>
  </em>
  <span> to, he… grabbed me. He knows my face, he knows what I am and where I--”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Suddenly both of Eren’s hands were planted firm on Armin’s shoulders, tight and trembling.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Grabbed you </span>
  <b>
    <em>how</em>
  </b>
  <span>?!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The others behind him all looked as if they’d witnessed a murder. Armin, though more than acquainted with such force being used, only stared back at Eren with mirrored worry. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“As-” Armin winced, lifting a hand to push one of Eren’s arms away. “As </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> as you’re grabbing me now! You do not have to get-” He repeated the movement, freeing himself from Eren’s grip. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Violent</span>
  </em>
  <span> with me, do you!?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Maybe a handful of people had risked putting their hands on Armin since he’d joined the church. That is, people </span>
  <em>
    <span>outside</span>
  </em>
  <span> said church, at least. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Why didn’t you tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>earlier</span>
  </em>
  <span>!? This is why you should have met me the </span>
  <b>first</b>
  <span> fucking time I asked!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>There</span>
  </em>
  <span> was Eren’s shouting. Though, it wasn’t the type of anger Armin had prepared to hear.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I am telling you. And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> you before; I thought about everything for myself, first. You don’t have anything to worry about, Eren. So long as you </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span> stealing from them.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eren huffed, unsatisfied as he looked away for a moment. For all his thieving and brutality, there was still a brain in that head of his.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well…. Why didn’t you report him? Huh? Then him knowing your face wouldn’t be an issue!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Fear.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Easy,” Armin’s small smile came again, “Leverage.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Exactly; </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fear</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What? You’re gonna accuse him of assaulting you a year from now for kicks!? Damn it Armin what good is leverage when we’re not even stealing from them anymore!?” Eren rushed out his words without pause. The worry in his voice slowly transformed back to that of garden variety anger.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>One of the unfamiliar faces stepped forward, shyly, lifting their hand in gentle protest. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eren</span>
  </em>
  <span>, maybe we shouldn’t be seen screaming at a--”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Be quiet</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Eren snapped back at him, shutting them up instantly. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Turmoil drenched the man’s face. Armin sympathized, recognizing his faith in either their religion, or at least in the church. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>What an idiot.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sometimes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Eren growled, attention back on Armin. “I wonder what kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> things they hammer into that skull of yours. Because that plan? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sucks</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Armin’s eyes narrowed, “Eren….” His voice was soft, exasperated. He’d come here as a courtesy, because he knew how important it was that they be seen together.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>In sight of all of Eren’s accomplices, and no doubt a few inconspicuous onlookers drawn in by the noise, Armin lifted his hands to cup Eren’s chin. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The wound became his focus, now. It was a small cut really, for someone of Eren’s profession. It resembled a cleft, something one might even find to be an attractive scar one day.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Regardless of what it was, how it came to be, or Eren’s purpose in leaving it to the open air? Armin let his magic do its work; A faint glow came from one of his hands like a reflected beam of sunlight. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Slowly, as he used his other hand to gently stroke the side of Eren’s unwashed face, the wound began to heal. Soon? It was nothing. As good as a memory. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You don’t worry about yourself enough.” Armin hummed, giving one last soft stroke along Eren’s jawline before returning his hands to his side. The amusement in his voice, however, all came from the reactions of those around them.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>This was undeniable proof, to those who may have doubted it, that Armin was in fact a seer of the church. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You didn’t have to do that.” Eren’s ungrateful muttering was to be expected.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The gash probably made him feel rugged and impressive when he had it! That could be why Eren could live with it unbandaged before.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was much better for his reputation now though, Armin thought, to have been seen close enough to a seer to earn such affection. To be healed by him, without cost, and to touch him without consequence.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eren needed </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> than fear to keep the wolves at bay, more than money, stolen goods, and the rare kindness. He didn’t run a gang so much as run a decade’s old legend.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>untouchable</span>
  </em>
  <span> Eren Jaeger, at the end of the day, needed Armin the pitiful </span>
  <em>
    <span>dandelion</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get anything done. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“So,” Armin pretended not to notice the awestruck faces of Eren’s group. “I don’t like seeing you hurt. Which means not in </span>
  <em>
    <span>jail</span>
  </em>
  <span> either, you know. </span>
  <b>No more</b>
  <span> robbing the Silver Feather’s.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Not waiting for an agreement, Armin turned and started to leave the way he came. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Not wanting to go without the last word, Eren scoffed back at him, “</span>
  <b>Don’t</b>
  <span> keep me </span>
  <em>
    <span>waiting</span>
  </em>
  <span> next time.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Armin held back his laughter. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eren always did know the </span>
  <em>
    <span>strangest</span>
  </em>
  <span> ways to say ‘be careful’.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><hr/><p><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>There was a particular kind of myth that most ordinary citizens had about the kind of life behind the walls of any church, Naturalist or otherwise. That it was always quiet, dim, and peaceful. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>After all, the most pious members of the church </span><em><span>seemed</span></em><span> to reflect that kind of behavior day in and day out.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Shifting responsibilities had Armin on his feet most of the day, so he couldn’t say much for the way anyone acted during the nighttime hours. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Couldn’t say anything </span><em><span>nice</span></em><span> about them, that is.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>He kept his posture straight as he dragged his feet at a quick, uneven pace through the private halls of the church. Just the sound of the dry grass of his shoes scraping against the stones was enough to irritate him. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Long days normally didn’t bother him. In fact, they were almost always used as an excuse to wander and do as he pleased. This wasn’t one of those times.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>He </span><em><span>knew</span></em><span> it wasn’t his time to be here, as he made a turn into a much more brightly lit room. But, some minor rule bending here or there wasn’t going to kill anybody. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Lined up in two neat rows were tubs of water. They had all been pre-filled, standing by and waiting for the various Gardeners who were scheduled for a bath to use without any extra fuss.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin may not have been scheduled for tonight, or even this </span><em><span>day</span></em><span>, but that didn’t stop him from peeling off his robe almost immediately upon reaching the nearest tub. He winced at the swift movement, the base of his spine pinching and sending a flare of pain up his back. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>He was so impatient, Armin only just managed to kick off his slippers before submerging himself into the water as deeply as he could. The cold water on his back was a welcomed shock of relief.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Leaning his forehead into his gloved hands, ignoring the dirt now slowly turning back into mud that was caked on them, he let out a long sigh. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>It would be enough to just have quiet time to himself. Some rest. </span><em><span>Leisure</span></em><span>. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>All things rarely granted to Gardeners, part </span><em><span>or</span></em><span> full time. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Commotion in the distance brought Armin to squeeze his eyes shut tighter. He breathed out his nose in annoyance, praying the noise would be fleeting. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>He didn’t need a </span><b>migraine</b><span>, too.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“--and I’m not cleaning that up again! I don’t care how- </span><em><span>Oh</span></em><span>!”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>If Armin were lucky, the group who’d just came through would have realized they were in the wrong place, turn around, and leave.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Good- </span><em><span>Huh</span></em><span>! G-good </span><em><span>evening</span></em><span>… </span><em><span>or is it goodnight</span></em><span>--”</span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><b>Hello</b><span> Dandelion!”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin slowly opened his eyes, lifting his head to face the group of Gardeners.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>No luck today.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“It’s ‘good night’. And you don’t have to say that when we’re both still here.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin’s correction was low in tone, far too tired to express his true feelings.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Standing before him from the opposite entrance of the room, were half a dozen sheepish, mostly inexperienced Gardeners. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>None of which looked to be seers, either. Not that Armin minded, but, the newer ones never knew how to behave. Always worried they were going to screw something up like they just had, most likely.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“It’s… past midnight! I didn’t think you’d even be </span><em><span>awake</span></em><span> at this hour, Armin.” The oldest of them spoke, a smile that betrayed the nervousness that Armin could practically smell from across the room.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>He stared blankly at the group, barely trying to remember the names of the faces that were staring into him like scared children. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>After </span><em><span>much</span></em><span> awkward staring, Armin turned his head back down, resting it against his wrists. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“It’s been a long day.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Taking it as their cue to proceed with their night as scheduled, the other Gardeners began to strip their clothes in a fashion not much different than Armin had. Robes haphazardly dropped to the ground, slippers all but </span><em><span>torn</span></em><span> as they were pushed off, and gloves left together in mis-matched piles.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I’m never going to get used to keeping my hair long-- </span><em><span>Armin</span></em><span>, aren’t you worried about yours getting wet?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin looked up again, to lean on just one arm against the side of his tub instead. He wanted to tell the younger man to mind his own business, </span><em><span>and he would have</span></em><span>, had he remembered his name.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>It was D-something. Darius. Danniel. Derald. </span><em><span>Doormat</span></em><span>. </span><em><span>Dolt</span></em><span>. </span><em><span>Disastrous</span></em><span>. </span><em><span>Derelict</span></em><span>-- </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Ah! That was it.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><em><span>Derrick</span></em><span>, would you like me to tend to your hair this week?” He had no idea who he was scheduled to tend to, as he never checked until the day of. But he wouldn’t mind swapping with someone.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><em><span>Uhhmh</span></em><span>, I… </span><em><span>no</span></em><span>. I mean, that’s nice of you- or well, you don’t </span><em><span>have</span></em><span> to, I….” The man tripped over his words, each potential outcome as bad as the next. He’d dug himself a hole.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Forget about his hair, aren’t you worried about yours getting all knotted, Armin? You haven’t even untied it yet….” A girl- </span><em><span>woman</span></em><span>, likely no older than 19 pointed out. She then delicately placed her own long mess of hair neatly outside the tub, careful not to get it wet. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>She had a point; Armin’s long braided hair was soaked in the tub, getting dirtier with each passing minute. His hair tender this week would more than likely </span><b>hate</b><span> him.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin was sure he didn’t know the woman’s name, but assumed she was of a higher class before taking her oath. To have hair so long and well kept prior to joining, and to care for it so much? Her spotless skin was a good indicator, too. Though it wouldn’t stay that way for long working the evening shifts.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Maybe it’ll get ruined, and they’ll have to cut it all off.” Armin had intended for it to be a joke, but in his state, it only sounded like the complaint it really was.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><em><span>Can we do that</span></em><span>?” Derrick whispered.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><b>No</b><span>, </span><em><span>no</span></em><span>. Don’t you think if it was that easy, more people would have done it? You’re just asking for trouble.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>The back and forth discussion about the rules they had to follow was enough to intensify Armin’s already pounding headache. He shouldn’t have stayed out so late, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Whoever was responsible for the schedules had to have been senile. Putting inexperienced, newer members of the church on shifts that only ended at </span><em><span>midnight</span></em><span> was a disaster waiting to happen. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>For all anyone knew, if Armin weren’t in the wash room now, some of them could have been using the privacy for intimacy. It wouldn’t be the </span><em><span>first</span></em><span> time Armin had interrupted something like that in these very halls….</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Armin, you look so… so </span><em><span>sad</span></em><span>! Did something happen?” The oldest, </span><em><span>Vincent</span></em><span>, that was his name, inquired loudly. It broke the mindless chatter amongst the rest of them; The </span><em><span>only</span></em><span> good thing to come out of it.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Sooner or later, Armin had to remind himself, they’d all be more than comfortable being around a seer. And when that day came? They’d know not to </span><em><span>bother him</span></em><span> when he was clearly trying to have some peace.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“...My back hurts.” There was also the </span><em><span>headache</span></em><span>, but it seemed fruitless to bring it up.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Oh, that’s, awful to hear. I hope you didn’t fall or anything….” The woman perked up as she spoke, though still careful not to get her precious hair wet. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin might’ve been touched by the naive concern, in any other situation. Touched to the point of remembering her name, even! </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>He sighed, not giving another thought to who was who, “Twenty years of servitude and your back will hurt, too.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>What Armin assumed was the newest member of their church, judging by his short hair, spoke up with a bright eyed wonder on his face, “Well you’re a seer, right?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin knew what was coming.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span> “Can’t you just, I guess, fix that or--”</span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><b>Do you</b> <b>listen</b><span> to anything </span><em><span>anyone</span></em><span> tells you!? Mother of </span><em><span>the fucking</span></em><span> forest Connie, you’re an idiot! At least pretend to have some respect! He couldn’t do that even if he </span><em><span>wanted</span></em><span> to.” Vincent shouted, quick to correct in Armin’s place.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>The entire room fell silent, with the other members of the evening shift recoiled in defense. Armin guessed that, between the six of them? There was </span><em><span>barely</span></em><span> a pentad of service between them. Respect just wasn’t in their vocabulary. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Yet all the respect in the world right now couldn’t satisfy him. The yelling caused him, too, to wince. This headache was only going to get worse if he stuck around here. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Could one of you--” Armin’s breath hitched from sitting upright too fast, a sharp pain shooting up his back again. “</span><em><span>Please</span></em><span>, boil this water for me? I am,” He stood up, making sure not to speak as he did so. “</span><em><span>Not</span></em><span> sure a bath was the best idea.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>The woman gasped, shrinking deep into her tub and turning away. She didn’t seem concerned about her hair, now.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Maybe she wasn’t used to seeing anyone outside of her age range in the nude from the waist down, but she would have to get over that if she was going to stay here. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin, personally, couldn’t remember a time where nudity meant anything to him other than what it was at face value.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><em><span>Connie</span></em><span> can do that.” Vincent offered, followed by a shocked gasp by the man in question.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You want me to do mine </span><em><span>and</span></em><span> his?! That’s a </span><em><span>lot</span></em><span> of water to move</span><em><span> twice.</span></em><span>” Connie scoffed.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin didn’t wait for an answer. Slow, and careful, he stepped out of the tub one foot at a time. He would </span><em><span>not</span></em><span> let these inexperienced Gardeners see him quake, or worse yet </span><em><span>fall</span></em><span>.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Is there any reason why you </span><em><span>can’t</span></em><span>?” Vincent was right to scold; The water </span><em><span>did</span></em><span> have to get re-used, and it couldn’t just sit there, dirty. But it wasn’t that hard for more seasoned members of the church.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin leaned down to grab his robe, but ignored his slippers. He could just fashion more together in the morning; It was easy, especially as a seer.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I-I, well I cut my hand earlier! An’ it hurts, right?!”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin half-crumpled his robe to his chest, ensuring none of his things would shake out as he left. It hung at half length, loosely swaying as it draped across his left arm.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“‘Pain is a lesson’.” Derrick parroted the learned phrase, though in a tone more mocking than serious.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Beginning his walk slowly, Armin tried his best not to wince or falter with pain. Being caught nude by the rare outsider roaming the living quarters didn’t worry him; None of them should be on this side of the church anyway.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Well </span><em><span>you</span></em><span> made me clean up the stupid wind chimes in the gardens earlier so </span><em><span>y</span></em><span>--”</span><span><br/></span><span>“Wind chimes?” Armin interrupted, head turning as fast as his headache would allow. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Connie blinked as he looked over. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>At a loss for words, perhaps? That was fine. Armin had enough to spare for them all, now.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You said in the gardens? The ones that we were gifted earlier this month? How did they break-- </span><em><span>how many</span></em><span> of them broke?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin, as per the shift change, had been doing his duties in residential areas of the city all day. He hadn’t gotten a chance to stop by the gardens.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Uh….” Connie gaped, looking back and forth to his fellow shift members. A silent plea for help.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><em><span>Let me see</span></em><span>,” Armin walked over to Connie’s tub quickly.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>The poor high-born woman practically shrieked- face going red as she flipped around entirely in her tub to hide the rest of her redding face and body. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin didn’t notice, instead outstretching his free hand towards Connie. It was an order to see the cut in question, though the younger Gardener didn’t seem to understand.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Your </span><em><span>cut hand</span></em><span>, please. Connie.” Armin ordered more plainly, unamused.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Face now as red as the girl’s, </span><em><span>for reasons Armin would never understand</span></em><span>, Connie flung his injured hand up awkwardly. A thin bandage was wrapped around his palm with care; Someone either in their shift or otherwise had done their job well. The wound was </span><em><span>likely</span></em><span> even still dry, judging by the material of the cloth.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin ripped the bandage off, ignoring Connie’s small yelp, and leaned in to examine the wound.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>It </span><em><span>was</span></em><span> a cut. A very, very thin, small cut. Barely worth bandaging, in Armin’s expert opinion. Whoever helped him out must have had a soft spot for the new Gardener. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Upon closer examination, Armin pressed his thumb against the tiny wound. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Again; Ignoring Connie’s squeaking.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“...Why did they break?” Armin asked, staring intensely at the cut after running his thumb across it.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><em><span>Ah</span></em><span>…. What, what was it that happened again, Sam?” Connie stammered out towards a Gardener across the room.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin might’ve been glad to know the name of another one of these newer Gardeners, given that he’d have to work with him more in the future. </span><em><span>If </span></em><span>he really cared.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“There was… a strong wind, and most of them came loose and just… fell. </span><em><span>We</span></em><span> didn’t break anything, Armin- </span><em><span>honest</span></em><span>!” Sam explained slowly, as if confused. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>With a relieved sigh, Armin closed his eyes. No, none of them had any idea the significance Armin placed on the frivolous ornaments. Yes, everyone surely, if at all, knew Armin’s opinion on gifts from outsiders. Which typically weren’t too far off from what his fellow seer Cynthia had initially rambled on about.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Not even Eren knew the secret of how the singing of the wind chimes were the highlight of Armin’s every day.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“That’s just fine. So long as… you cleaned them up properly.” Armin lied, looking back at the cut with a sincerity that was only making Connie even </span><em><span>more</span></em><span> confused and flustered. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Noticing now that the others in the room were beginning to catch onto the strange reaction, Armin did a lookabout. His blunder would have to be fixed.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“The chimes were meant as gifts, which customarily we don’t accept…. I would say they’ve done more damage, when they were meant to do the opposite. It’s only right;” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin ignored the intensified migraine as he used his magic, healing the superficial wound even easier than he’d fixed Eren’s earlier that week. A gentle glimmer sparked from his hand, like a flash of daybreak too quick to admire.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I make things even again.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>No doubt, everyone in the room had witnessed a seer heal the wounds of another before. Yet, they all stared in reverence! Even the shy young woman was peering out from her dark, now soaked, braid.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Likely, this was the first time they’d seen it done to one of their own, and for something that wasn’t life threatening.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><em><span>That</span></em><span> would give them more to talk about than his reaction to hearing about the broken wind chimes, surely. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><em><span>Uh</span></em><span>… thank you?” Connie mumbled as he took his own hand back, turning it over and examining it like his skin had turned into gold.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Armin said nothing as he left the room, and if there had been any more to their stares, he didn’t notice. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><em><span>Damn</span></em><span>-- </span><b>Goodnight, Dandelion!</b><span>” Vincent shouted after him.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><em><span>Ohogh-</span></em><b><em>Goodnight, Dandelion!</em></b><span>” Was the awkward chorus that followed. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Evening’, Grassroots.” Armin muttered, uncaring that he likely went unheard. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>If he was spared any luck today, then perhaps, there would be at least one wind chime left to greet him in the morning.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm begging for feedback here. I know my track record for completing stories is... *bad*, but this is one I've been cooking for years and it finally possessed me to write. And I'm writing it! I know that writing for a rare pair is just begging for broken dreams, but I have a lot of intense bubbling feelings for this one. Because it's not sad, and it's not a meme, and it's been a fun world build. It's not horny but shhh, shh. If this rarepair fic does well? I have the horny carnal marmins lined up for whenever this is over.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Soil [Part 2]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>All things change.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Unedited as of uploading because I have faith in myself.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One of the many duties servants like Armin were tasked to fulfill, was the collection of various funds and donations to help keep the more <em> material </em> necessities from going under. Laboring every waking moment couldn’t conjure up all the food, medicine, clothing, and lumber that they spent on helping the people.<br/><br/>Neither could magic, despite what most of the <em> ignorant </em> citizens Armin dealt with may grumble about once he’d passed by.<br/><br/>Armin didn’t like or dislike the task, or <em> any </em> specific task, really. But collection was one of the few duties that allowed him to meander through the market square <em> without </em> getting in trouble afterwards!<br/><br/>The majority of money and goods traded came through here. That, and information. Armin never could pass up a good story.<br/><br/>Unnoticed by most, Armin liked to walk slowly between the different areas, careful not to linger <em> too </em> long in one place. Even at the expense of a finished story, Armin didn’t like the awkward introductions that came with being spotted and acknowledged as a seer.<br/><br/>“I’ve seen him sneak off at night- And I <em> know </em> he ends up down by the river. He really doesn’t think he’ll ever be caught, and I’ve had it!”<br/><br/>The strained gossiping of a mother, far too worried about what her unfortunate husband got up to all hours of the night. Veiled threats, rarely exciting, and often ending with no real resolution. Armin had heard these types of stories too many times to pay much mind to them.</p><p> </p><p>“Larger than a pig?”<br/><br/>“No, larger than a <b>cow</b> ! No-no, <em> twice </em> the size of a cow! It was ravenous, I tell ye’! ‘Thought it was going to swallow my mule <b>whole</b> !”<br/><br/>“Really!? Wait; <em> How big is a cow </em> ?”<br/><br/>Armin grimaced to hold back the small laugh. Traveler’s stories about magical beasts and horrific monsters were fun every now and then, though, <em> less so </em> when neither person could quite get the size of the ‘creature’ right. Another lie drummed up from seeing a lost bear, likely while too drunk to understand what it was they witnessed.<br/><br/><em> Funny </em>, but not quite what Armin was looking for today.</p><p><br/>“‘ <em> Better to have loved and lost, than never loved at all’ </em> .”<br/><br/>“What kind of stupid poety nonsense is that? What kind of books are you selling here?! Gods you’re brainless.”<br/><br/>Armin stopped, keeping his eyes trained on the small pushcart where he’d heard the conversation. Inside the cart was a somewhat misshapen stack of books. Some were crooked and nearly ready to collapse the rest of the tower that sat upon them. Likely, from being pushed around in a cart all morning.<br/><br/>The book peddler looked crest-fallen, glancing down into the pile of books. “I, well, you <em> did </em> say you were trying to impress the girl--”<br/><br/>“ <em> Girl </em> !? Are you deaf <em> and </em> empty? My Sonya is a <b>woman</b> , and she wants a <b>man</b> of intellect! I don’t want your depressing poetry, I want something that will help show her I value the mind!”<br/><br/>The man, a <em> boy </em> really, slapped his hand down on the edge of the cart, a glimmer in his eyes. So maybe he did want to impress this Sonya, but Armin had trouble believing he ‘valued’ anything even close to knowledge.<br/><br/>“I beg your pardon...” Armin interrupted, making his presence known before stepping into their personal space.<br/><br/>The boy, perhaps not noticing Armin’s status, scoffed, “Uh, hello, I’m kind of--”<br/><br/>“What can I do for a servant of our Matron of the Forest? I-I pay my tax to the soldiers every month on time, you know!” The book peddler grinned, anxiously picking through the loose books to pull out a thin journal.<br/><br/>“Oh, I’m not here about your paper taxes.” Armin assured, offering a gentle smile. There was an <em> absurd </em> tax on anything paper brought in from foreign locations, as, there was ‘no telling’ what means the lumber was obtained.<br/><br/>The average merchants usually didn’t have to worry about it much. For someone selling books though, the tax probably took quite a lot of their bottom line.<br/><br/>Not that Armin cared.<br/><br/>“I’m sure this fine,” Armin did a once over of the boy, “ <em> Man </em> , is just as curious as I would be as to <b>specifically</b> what types of books you sell.”<br/><br/>He would just sift through the wares himself, but….<br/><br/>“I-- <em> Excuse me </em> ?” The peddler was bewildered, and rightfully so.<br/><br/>“Please, erhm, forgive me, but… are you not, <em> forbidden </em> from reading, s-sir?”<br/><br/>Armin breathed out his nose, forcing his smile to widen ever so slightly. “Don’t confuse my interest for a personal one, <b> <em>sir</em> </b> ; Willow Hill’s church has <b>always</b> had an impressive library. It’s open to the public, too.”<br/><br/>He let his smile drop into a disappointed, albeit dramatic frown. “Have you not been <em> inside </em> the church before, <b> <em>sir</em> </b> ?”<br/><br/>The peddler looked horrified at the implication, eyes shakily darting between Armin and the disrespectful boy who’d first harassed him. If Armin weren’t already offended by the both of them, he might actually feel an ounce of sympathy for the peddler for having such a rotten morning.<br/><br/>“Look, <em> wallflower </em> , take this and go bother someone else! Books aren’t going to help poor people anyway!” The boy held out a coin pinched between his fingers, and held up far too close to Armin’s face than necessary.<br/><br/>Armin didn’t lean back, not for the attempted insult at the use of ‘wallflower’, nor the borderline crime of coming so close to touching his skin. Instead, he held up his left hand, cupping it underneath the coin.<br/><br/>“You are so… <em> generous </em> .” Armin began, no longer a frown on his face, or a smile. Just the blank expression and the piercing eyes to make sure his point <em> was </em> understood. “I’m sure the lovely lady who holds your heart, <em> any woman </em> , would be more than infatuated with a man of such faith and charity.”<br/><br/>“You couldn’t possibly be nobility, but if I explained your behavior today, well…. I’m <b>sure</b> the Jonquil Council would allow me to bless your marriage!”<br/><br/>The boy blinked, realization very <em> slowly </em> coming to his face. “You’re a seer?”<br/><br/>“What was her name, <b>Sonya</b> ? Such a <em> unique </em> moniker for this generation. I’ll be <em> sure </em> to remember it.”<br/><br/>Red in the face with, no doubt, a mixture of frustration, embarrassment, anger, <em> and </em> fear, the boy dropped the coin and bolted.<br/><br/>Fortunately for him, Armin wasn’t so petty as to try and ruin some commoner’s marriage over a slight. He’d forget the name of the would-be lover by dinnertime.<br/><br/>Slowly, Armin leaned down to grab the coin, giving it a quick examination. It was just a brass coin. Better than nothing, but <em> very </em> close to nothing.<br/><br/>“I’m <em> so sorry </em> , so sorry..., I’m sorry? So sorry sir--”<br/><br/>“My name is <em> Armin </em> , and please <em> don’t </em> apologize. Really, it isn’t your fault.” Armin replied as he stood back up.<br/><br/>“ <em> Armin </em> , Armin, yes, <em> uh </em> , wh-what can I help you with? How many books do you need? I have so many books here you would love! <em> Well </em> not <em> you </em> per say, but, bu-but….” The peddler was practically sweating.<br/><br/>“...Do you have any books about country borders? Or, more specifically, Laurel’s borders.”<br/><br/>The peddler started <em> furiously </em> tossing around the books in his cart. Once or twice, Armin was sure some of the pages of a book almost ripped.<br/><br/>It might have been a bit dodgy, throwing his weight around as a seer to get what he wanted. But it wasn’t his <em> plan </em> , and he didn’t think a little bit of sweat was a heavy price to pay for how they’d treated him.<br/><br/>“Huhhh, okay, I don’t have any, <em> hrm </em> , on borders- <em> but </em> ! I have;” He pulled out a heavy looking, violet bound book. “A <em> history </em> on Willow Hill’s expansion after the flood.”<br/><br/>Useless.<br/><br/>“ <em> And </em> a retelling of the <em> war </em> that, hrm, ‘forced’ Laurel to retract its borders through the northern mountainous region.”<br/>Boring.<br/><br/>“ <b> <em>And</em> </b> a recipe book, which, while it’s not about country borders <em> specifically </em> ? It’s all about the culture split between Laurel and the eastern territories <em> because </em> of the lax patrolling of the borders on that side of the country. So it’s a little bit of history <em> with </em> really interesting recipes you’ve probably never had before!”<br/><br/>Okay, that was actually kind of neat. But, still not what Armin was looking for.<br/><br/>“Wonderful. All, <em> truly </em> wonderful.” Armin sighed.<br/><br/>“So, would, w-would these make good donations for the church…?”<br/><br/>Armin nodded halfheartedly. “Yes, those will do just fine in our library, I’m… <em> sure </em> of it.”<br/><br/>“Will you be able to uhm, carry them all yourself?”<br/><br/>“Carry…? You can deliver them, surely.” Armin had duties to tend to! He couldn’t lug around a bunch of heavy books all day, now, could he?<br/><br/>“Will my paper fees be waived for this…?” The peddler asked with a frown.<br/><br/>Armin didn’t even know the <em> exact cost </em> of the paper tax. “This should cover it.” He offered the brass coin.<br/><br/>Unable to rightly decline, the peddler accepted it. “I… see. Thank you so much for… <em> thanks </em> .” He couldn’t complain.<br/><br/>Armin gave another forced smile, before turning to walk away and meld with the bustling market crowd all over again.<br/><br/>If his experiences the past month had reminded him of anything, it was that being a seer was truly one of the highest privileges anyone could ever pray to experience. Second only to royalty, Armin guessed, he was revered or <em> feared </em> by everyone.<br/><br/>Yes, he did get to use to his advantage more often than not. But it also left him at such a <em> barrier </em> with people. The performances were getting so very, <em> very </em> tiring.<br/><br/>Stories from the market square really were the closest he got to entertainment, or education about the world outside his bubble of being revered. If no one ever noticed him, he could listen forever. Capturing every tall tale, sob story, threat, affection, and so on in his mind for as long as he could bear to remember.<br/><br/>But after so many <em> years </em> …? <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> “Eight brass and one iron.”<br/><br/>“ <b>No</b> . Three iron.”<br/><br/>“Ten brass and one iron.”<br/><br/>The more time passed, the clearer it became to Armin how just little things <em> really </em> changed. At least as far as day to day life was concerned.<br/><br/>“ <em> Three iron </em> .”<br/><br/>“... <b>Two</b> iron?”<br/><br/>“Three.”<br/><br/>Armin couldn’t possibly understand why the same people would haggle over the same things, time and time again. It was endless!<br/><br/>He wasn’t much for remembering faces, or names, or information that was generally unimportant to him and his interests. But he was <em> damn </em> certain that he’d seen this exact shepherd argue the same stingy prices for her wool for at least three years now.<br/><br/>“Two iron!”<br/><br/>“ <b>Three</b> .”<br/><br/>And, he wasn’t about to listen to her again.<br/><br/>“Don’t play these games with me Emma, you can’t need the coin that bad! I know you made a killing selling to the Silver Feather’s this month!”<br/><br/>Armin stopped, ears perking at the mention of the guild.<br/><br/>“Exactly,” The shepherd, Emma, started to explain. “I made <b>such</b> a killing, that I’m low on wool until the next shearing. And you, my dear, bought all your clay for the year at a discount <em> from the Silver Feather’s </em> . So, <b> <em> three iron</em> </b> .”<br/><br/>Opportunistic as ever, Armin didn’t waste time. Inserting himself into other people’s business was practically his job, after all.<br/><br/>“So much talk about these, <em> Silver Feather’s </em> .” Armin had to be delicate in how he worded this.<br/><br/>“I don’t know much about them, but <em> as a seer </em> , I believe they <em> must </em> have been sent to you both for a reason.”<br/><br/>Explicitly <em> asking </em> for information was a no-go. Neither of them would talk, <em> especially </em> after admitting to his powers.<br/><br/>Armin reached into his robe, pulling out his collection bag.<br/><br/>“You’ve both been so fortunate. Perhaps you can share that wealth with the church?”<br/><br/>Between the shepherd and the man who was desperately trying to haggle with her, a knowing look was shared. They’d been caught in a trap; More or less punished for their squabbling. <em> Their greed </em> .<br/><br/>“I don’t know <em> how </em> wealthy you’re thinking, they didn’t buy <em> that </em> much….” Emma trailed off, looking down at her crates of unprocessed wool.<br/><br/>The customer, on the other hand, was more than eager to counter the claim.<br/><br/>“ <em> Oh </em> please! You were so eager to shear your bloated <em> goats </em> this Spring that the quality’s gone down! If the Silver Feather’s hadn’t shown up you’d be at the Gardener’s gates just <em> begging </em> for scraps.”<br/><br/>Overpaying for low quality wool. That was as strange to know, as it was useless.<br/><br/>Emma didn’t take kindly to the accusation, pulling out a large mass of wool to practically shove in the man’s face.<br/><br/>“Does <em> this </em> look like low quality to you?” Her voice was raised, but still even as it had been before.<br/><br/>“What it <em> looks like </em> , is worth <b>one iron</b> , and ten brass!”<br/><br/>No, no, Armin was not letting this play out.<br/><br/>“Quality or not, I wish I could say.” <em> Legally </em> , Armin couldn’t offer his opinion even if he had one.<br/><br/>“I am <em> much </em> better versed when it comes to cotton!”<br/><br/>It was meant as a joke, though they didn’t seem to think so.<br/><br/>“Well, this cheap <em> coot </em> has enough clay to redecorate the entire east wing of the ol’ palace, so he can afford to pay full price for wool that’s clearly good enough for the Silver Feather’s Guild. They don’t buy <em> crap </em> .”<br/><br/>“They don’t <em> sell </em> to crap, either! I know worth when I see it, and if there were any here in your moldy old boxes then even this,” He looked to Armin, eyeing him up and down. “This <em> fine seer </em> could tell!”<br/><br/>No, Armin could <em> not </em> tell. And even if he could, he wasn’t allowed to, anyway. Using the faith to influence the market was wrong.<br/><br/>“The answer here is clear to me; Settle the difference in an offering to please the Matron.”<br/><br/>Using the market to the benefit of the faith? Now, that was the <em> real </em> price to pay for being stingy.<br/><br/>“I’m sure the Silver Feather’s Guild would love to hear about how their good business with you has opened up room in your hearts to contribute more to the faith than what was previously within your means? Whenever they come back, that is.”<br/><br/>The most Armin knew about the guild was that they showed up in late Spring, and came back four or five times for the rest of the year until the last big Autumn festival. He had no idea where they went or where they came back from.<br/><br/>“ <em> If </em> they ever come back.” Emma remarked, low and disgruntled. She then turned around, unlocking a small metal box that was chained to a block of stone on the ground.<br/><br/>Interesting way to keep people from stealing valuables. The Silver Feather’s Guild should have considered something similar for their cargo.<br/><br/>Armin desperately wanted to ask what she meant, but knew the question would be too leading.<br/><br/>The man pulled three iron coins from deep in his pant pockets, carefully letting them slide into Armin’s bag. Armin was just about to give thanks, but he’d gone and opened his mouth again.<br/><br/>“What d’you mean ‘if’!? They sell to all manner of folks here, even the royal family! Why wouldn’t they come back?”<br/><br/>Armin blessed the man’s ignorance, as he wasn’t sure if the woman was ever going to elaborate otherwise.<br/><br/>“They’d had their license to sell and travel into Laurel suspended; I remember them coming through here all the time maybe a decade ago? No idea what they did to ruin a good thing, but must’ve gotten new leadership a few years ago.”<br/><br/>With that, she too slid three iron coins into the collection bag.<br/><br/>Armin didn’t know <em> that </em> . But he also only started helping Eren rob traveling merchants four years ago. His knowledge of anything merchant related past that? Practically nonexistent.<br/><br/>“...Thank you, <em> both </em> of you, for your kind offerings.” Armin slipped the bag back into his robe.<br/><br/>“Happy to please Her.”<br/>“Yeah, that.”<br/><br/>Armin had already turned around by the time they spoke, knowing there was nothing of value left in talking with them.<br/><br/>“So, are you buying?”<br/><br/>“ <em> Yeah </em> yeah, I’m buying. Three iron, right?”<br/><br/>“Three iron, and ten brass.”<br/><br/>“ <b>Ten brass</b> ?! It was three iron before!”<br/><br/>“I’m lighter in the bank now. So, it’s three iron, <b> <em>and ten brass</em> </b> .”<br/><br/>Armin was <em> not </em> responsible for any calling of the guards that may or may not have happened later that morning.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>“ <em> What </em> is….” Armin had spent nearly all morning performing for the sake of collection, when a strong breeze brought with it a familiar scent.<br/><br/>Though, it was more than that, a <b>lot</b> more than just grass, even. Was it, wood?<br/><br/>No. It was sweeter than that, and he’s sure he would have heard a <em> tree falling </em> .<br/><br/>Armin ignored the chatter around him, sliding in between vendors and customers smoothly as he always did.<br/><br/>The scent was <em> fresh </em> , similarly to a florist. But, it was distinctly <em> wild </em> , and unrefined. Not that it was a bad thing.<br/><br/>As he moved further away from the market, it became easier to identify whatever he was now after.<br/><br/>Something about it was just so <em> oddly </em> nostalgic to him, now that he was surely getting closer.<br/><br/>Reaching the edge of the pavestones at the top of the next hill, Armin stood looking down at a large field of wildflowers.<br/><br/>Wildflowers he’d planted with the Sages almost, how long had it been?<br/><br/>It was just after the last drought had scorched most of the hills on the west end of the city. So… over a decade ago.<br/><br/>Maybe they weren’t the exact same flowers, but they were the ones that grew back from where the ones he’d first laid down inevitably spread.<br/><br/>Taking a few slow steps down the steep hill, Armin squinted, scanning the field for the source of the damage. It had to be <em> a lot </em> for Armin to have noticed it by smell alone.<br/><br/>On a gentler portion of the rolling hills, there was one particularly green area. In and around it, were young children playing.<br/><br/>Though, as Armin was but a few meters away, he noticed that the ones inside the green area were mostly girls. All of them sitting down, giggling away as they plucked and passed around flowers.<br/><br/>Not far off were plenty of adults. Some were collecting wood, or checking meager snares for the overabundant rabbits that plagued the town every season. A few could be seen tripping over themselves, desperately trying to use the steep hillside as a short cut to get to who knew where.<br/><br/>It didn’t seem like any of them had ordered the children to <em> do </em> this… whatever ‘this’ was.<br/><br/>Armin was slow to walk closer, and walked around to make sure that most of the girls saw him before he approached. He didn’t aim to scare them at all.<br/><br/>“Well… hello.”<br/><br/>Two of the girls, from what looked to be on the shier side, immediately got up and ran off to frolic with the others.<br/><br/>“Hi.”<br/>“Hello!”<br/>“Hello….”<br/><br/>Armin looked around at the little destruction they’d wrought, and noticed the many circlets of flowers in all varying shapes, sizes, and colors that littered the spaces between them.<br/><br/>There must have been at least a hundred flower crowns. Typical crafts for children, yes, but <em> this many </em> ?<br/><br/>“It’s a beautiful day today… are you all having fun?” Armin did vaguely remember how badly he once wanted to run through the tall grass that <em> used </em> to occupy these hills.<br/><br/>“Mmhmm!”<br/>“...Yah.”<br/><br/>Were the quiet responses, the girls returning their focus to their crowns.<br/><br/>If he remembered right, the Sages <em> did </em> let him run around unrestrained. <em> Once </em> . He was rewarded with a snake bite.<br/><br/>Pain is a lesson. <em><br/></em><br/>“Can I ask, what all of these are for?” He pointed down at the most prominent pile of flower crowns.<br/><br/>The one who had been the most quiet until now piped up, her dark, thin brows knitting together, “They’re <em> flower crowns </em> ! You wear them, duh….”<br/><br/>“Ah…. You’ve made so many! It must have taken you,” Armin looked around, “All afternoon to make this many!”<br/><br/>“All <em> day </em> !” One girl corrected proudly.<br/><br/>“All day? What are you going to do with so many?”<br/><br/>“ <em> Wear them </em> --!”<br/>“They’re for something-- well, someone else.”<br/><br/>“Do you think it’s alright if I sit here? I know a lot about flowers; I could help--”<br/><br/>“What’s <em> this </em> flower?!” The tallest asked, holding up the string of what was almost a complete crown of bellflowers.<br/><br/>Armin crouched, and extended his hand to reach for the flowers.<br/><br/>Once they were offered to him proper, he finally sat down near the edge of the well-plucked circle.<br/><br/>“These are, <em> bellflowers </em> , and,” He chuckled. “Dandelion stems holding them together.”<br/><br/>“How do you <em> know </em> they’re dandelion stems?”<br/><br/>Armin handed the string of flowers back carefully, “It’s my job to know everything about flowers, and all kinds of plants.”<br/><br/>That, and it was hard not to know what a dandelion looked like when it was also your title.<br/><br/>“...Do you want us to make you one?” The previously quiet girl asked.<br/><br/>Armin glanced at the pile of crowns again, “I can’t have one of these?”<br/><br/>“No!”<br/>“ <em> Not these ones </em> !”<br/>“We can make you your own!”<br/><br/>He went wide eyed at the outcry, genuinely confused.<br/><br/>“I’m sorry, it’s just that, you already have <em> so many </em> .”<br/><br/>“Yeah? They’re for <em> someone special </em> .”<br/><br/>Armin breathed out his nose gently, smiling. Had they been any older, or perhaps, better informed? They’d likely agree with him out of nervousness. Children were often told horror stories about the awful retribution that would come from offending a servant of the church.<br/><br/>“I don’t know who they’re for, but, look;”<br/><br/>He leaned forward to pull a flower crown from the bottom of the pile, as gently as he’d handle a baby bird.<br/><br/>Wilted, slightly damp, and unable to hold its once circular form.<br/><br/>“This one has been sitting all day.”<br/><br/>The girls all frowned, and one dropped her current crown in the making.<br/><br/>Was he ruining their fun? Was this an unnecessary evil he was doing, to these innocent girls who didn’t even know who it was they were talking to?<br/><br/>“All the other flowers are fine….” One mumbled, looking away towards the unpicked flowers in the field.<br/><br/>“What’s wrong with these ones!?” Another whined.<br/><br/><em> Pain is a lesson </em> .<br/><br/>Armin set the crown back into the grass,“As soon as you pick a flower,” He picked a dandelion from the edge of the circle they were sitting in, holding it out to them.<br/>“It’s already dead.”<br/><br/>They all went silent. Clearly, they were old enough to understand what death was.<br/><br/>“Don’t be afraid!” Armin tried to reassure them, offering the dandelion with a genuine smile.<br/><br/>They just pouted, looking down at all the flowers they’d picked.<br/><br/>“Look….”<br/><br/>Armin placed his hand on a small patch of dirt, and soon after, a small green stem sprouted out of the ground.<br/><br/>The girls all gasped, faces quickly beaming with delight. When the stem then bent and turned in the wind, blossoming with small white petals? They all but screamed into a new chorus of giggles, and they all moved in shoulder to shoulder to get a better look at the magic.<br/><br/>“Are you a, like a wizard!?”<br/><br/>“ <em> No </em> .” He was more stern than he ought to be, there.<br/><br/>“I mean, <em> yes </em> , and no. I’m a seer.” He relaxed, letting go of his misplaced sense of pride.<br/><br/>“...Is that a wizard?”<br/><br/>Armin was quiet for a moment, but couldn’t help but laugh. Whoever these girls’ parents were, they either weren’t very religious or weren’t very good at explaining anything.<br/><br/>“How’d you make that flower!? Can you teach us!?”<br/><br/>He took a break to collect himself and shook his head, much to the girls’ dismay.<br/><br/>While education had never been Armin’s responsibility, and he <em> loathed </em> the pedantic questioning some of the more… <em> bold </em> citizens got when it came to how Armin’s magic worked? He couldn’t judge the girls for wondering.<br/><br/>After all, Armin wasn’t that much different once.<br/><br/>“I don’t think I could teach you. See,... well, it’s like, <em> this </em> leaf.” He began, ripping out the leaf from the dandelion he’d plucked earlier.<br/><br/>He held it not far above their heads, “I’m not a wizard, I’m a seer. And I can <em> see </em> things that most people, <em> like you </em> , can’t. There’s another world other than this one, and there’s a veil between that one, and ours. Think of <em> this leaf </em> , okay?”<br/><br/>He looked between them and the leaf, making sure they were paying attention.<br/><br/>“Think of <em> this leaf </em> , like that veil. On the other side of that is where the gods live, and….” And, where everyone was supposed to go after they passed. But, he didn’t think that was his place to share.<br/><br/>“And the sunlight-- You can see the light shining through it, right?”<br/><br/>One of the girls titled her head, squinting, “Uh… yeah, but, only a little bit.”<br/><br/>Armin nodded, “Yes, <em> exactly </em> . I can only ‘see’ the magic on the other side. What <em> most </em> people see, like you, is, this….”<br/><br/>He dropped the leaf, leaving only his gloved fist above them. “You can’t see through my hand, can you?”<br/><br/>The girls shook their heads, still squinting.<br/><br/>“Okay, don’t look up at the sun for that long.”<br/><br/>The ‘quiet’ girl picked up the dandelion with a smile, “So can’t you just bring the flowers back to life with your magic, then?!”<br/><br/>Armin frowned as he let his arm fall back to his side.<br/><br/>“I can fix things that are broken, but… not even the gods can bring back the dead.”<br/><br/>Cross, but oddly unphased, another girl lifted up her elbow, pointing to it with her free hand. “Can you fix this?”<br/><br/>A small tear in her sleeve revealed a scrape, likely from all their seemingly unsupervised playing around on what was a mostly uneven, rough hillside.<br/><br/>“ <em> That </em> … is possible. But, you <em> do </em> have to offer something in return, <em> a gift </em> , to the goddess of these lands.” Armin mused, reciting a line he’d often used when asked the very same thing by citizens who knew better.<br/><br/>Looking around wildly, the girls all began to pat around themselves in search for some kind of present.<br/><br/>In truth, the compensation for a seer’s healing services was usually something a bit more straightforward. Money, food, or living necessities. Very <em> rarely </em> was it ever something decorative or ‘giftlike’ in nature.<br/><br/>“Here!”<br/><br/>The injured girl held out a small ribbon. It was slightly frayed, and paling at the edges, but its bright red color made one thing abundantly clear to Armin that the girls may not have realized.<br/><br/>It was probably expensive, at least by the standards of most people who didn’t live in the noble district on the high hills. And there was no way any child of the noble district <em> wouldn’t </em> know what seers are.<br/><br/>“How about,” Armin picked a more recent flower crown from the pile. “Just <em> one </em> of these flower crowns?”<br/><br/>You couldn’t take from the earth to make an offering <em> to the earth </em> , but Armin let it pass, internally. Cotton and lumber were very much from the earth, yet both had been accepted as offerings to the church before.<br/><br/>“Okay!”<br/><br/>Armin touched his hand to the injured girl’s elbow, and in less time than it had taken for them to give thanks, the light glow of his hand had healed the small scrape completely.<br/><br/>The girls giggled and squealed at the magic, not unlike the way the evening shift Gardeners had last week.<br/><br/>“I’m sure the Matron will be happy with your gift.” Armin hummed, delicately placing the flower crown in his lap.<br/><br/>“Who’s that?” The ‘quiet’ girl asked, still not taking her eyes off the other girl’s elbow.<br/><br/>Armin blinked, breathing out his nose. “The Matron of the Forest; Our Lady of the Land? You don’t know who that is?”<br/><br/>She went by many names, but even for those who weren’t particularly religious? To live in Willow’s Hill and not even know <em> of </em> her was a bit of a surprise. Maybe, Armin just didn’t interact with children of this generation much.<br/><br/>Before he could get a response, the three girls, and all the children who’d been playing around the plucked circle, began to bolt further down the hill in a flurry of excitement.<br/><br/>A single woman, tall and dressed in all white, waved them down near a tree at the base.<br/><br/>Armin calmed, allowing his face to relax as he watched the children form a circle around the woman.<br/><br/><em> Orphans </em> .<br/><br/>He’d heard about some royal decree or another, about not bringing the subject of faith into the schooling of children who hadn’t any true parents yet to call their own.<br/><br/>“ <em> Hmmm </em> … <b>must be nice</b> .” He mumbled, letting the flower crown fall, forgotten, as he stood up.<br/><br/>The wind picked up again, blowing some of the loose flowers and crowns out into the field.<br/><br/>Armin looked up, watching the clouds pass through the afternoon sky.<br/><br/>It would definitely rain soon.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>They were late. Gods damn it all, <em> they were late </em> , and it didn’t help that the lot of them were on edge, too.<br/><br/>As per their tightly planned schedule, the Silver Feather’s Guild was always meant to return to Willow’s Hill in the mornings. But this blasted <em> rain </em> had gone and mucked up the roads from there to Caduhm.<br/><br/>Between the cold slowing the horses, the mud slowing the carts’ wheels, and the worst luck of <em> lightning </em> striking down a tree in the <b>very</b> shortcut they relied on to get through the marshlands on time?<br/><br/>This was a logistical disaster.<br/><br/>They prepared for such things in their budget, <em> yes </em> , but that didn’t mean they had to like it.<br/><br/>One massive upside? Marco didn’t have to spend time with the song and dance at the city gate.<br/><br/>All he had to do was show his manifest, flash his license, and not waste the guards’ time. In return, they wouldn’t spend too long inspecting their caravan.<br/><br/>Marco hoped that their combined discomfort and anticipation for their potentially stolen cargo didn’t tip anyone off.<br/><br/><em> Talk </em> may have been cheap, but rumors could take a while to shake off. The wrong guard remembering the right thing about their <em> last </em> visit? Could have been disastrous.<br/><br/><br/>And yet, they weren’t held at the gate.<br/><br/>Marco and Jean took charge of the market square again this time, even with the rain.<br/><br/>“I don’t know how much good either of us will be in this <em> nimbus </em> .” Jean muttered, though Marco barely heard him through the rain.<br/><br/>He was right; Without hired guards to help watch the area they unloaded in? It would be <em> child’s play </em> for an experienced band of thieves to make off with a barrel or two. Seer unrequired.<br/><br/><br/>And yet, for once in all the time they’d been selling in Willow’s Hill… <em> nothing </em> was stolen.<br/><br/><br/>It continued to rain throughout the rest of the week. Horrid for sales, though the rain had only been at its worst the day they arrived.<br/><br/>Jean’s sixth sense wasn’t the stuff of magic, unfortunately, and he could offer no warnings to Marco about any thieves, would-be murderers, seers, or law enforcement headed their way.<br/><br/>Everything was entirely up to awareness, and intuition. <em> Restraint </em> .<br/><br/><em> And </em> <b> <em>yet</em> </b> …? Where magic should have provided the advantage for something like espionage, for something Marco had seen work flawlessly <em> first hand </em> ?<br/><br/>He turned away from a vendor once, to spot blue eyes staring back at him from across the market square.<br/><br/>Shielded from the rain in his hooded robes, near-black as they were drenched with rain, was the mysterious, thieving seer.<br/><br/>Marco did not have much chance to stare. The seer disappeared around a corner after the moment came and went.<br/><br/>There was a thundering feeling in Marco’s head, and it wasn’t one from the sky, or the pouring rain. It wasn’t even from the pounding of his boots on the pavement as he ran after the man.<br/><br/>No, it was the flurry of thoughts. The <em> emotions </em> .<br/><br/>Questions like: ‘ <em> Who is he </em> ’ , and ‘ <em> Why are you doing this? </em> ’<br/><br/>Feelings of <em> stress </em> , of anger, of <em> excitement </em> .<br/><br/>His feet stopped as he came to an abandoned tunnel, and Marco realized just how <em> hard </em> his chest heaved. Lungs burning, straining to relax as his heart worked in a steady, rapid overtime.<br/><br/>The tunnel that stretched in front of him was <em> dark </em> and echoing the drippings of rain in a variety of pitches. A melody of nature’s making that was warning enough not to go further.<br/><br/>It was not abandoned in the same way alleys were in the slums. Not like a vacant warehouse.<br/><br/>It reminded him more of--<br/><br/>“ <em> Marco </em> ! What are you <em> doing </em> !?”<br/><br/>He whipped around, still gasping for air, blinking the water from his eyes. Where had his hat gone…? It must have fallen off in the run.<br/><br/>Jean slid off his flustered horse, stomping over to Marco with what looked like a flap of plywood to shield him better from the rain.<br/><br/>“Are you <em> crazy </em> ?! If I didn’t <em> know you </em> I would think you were running from a murder!” His tone was joking, but his face betrayed the truth.<br/><br/>He was confused, and he was worried.<br/><br/><em> Rightfully </em> so.<br/><br/>“...Jean, <em> I </em> … I <b> <em>need</em> </b> to know,” Marco panted, lifting his hands up to grab his dear friend by the shoulders. “I <b> <em>need to know</em> </b> .”<br/><br/>“Know <em> what </em> …? Marco, <em> Marco </em> . You’re going to catch something if you go <em> roaming </em> a city this big.”<br/><br/>Marco closed his eyes, sighing. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.<br/><br/>“I… <em> yeah </em> . Yeah, I know. I know. I’m sorry I… but I saw h-him. I <em> saw </em> the… seer.”<br/><br/>His lips curled into a smile, and he started to laugh at the awkward phrasing.<br/><br/>Jean tilted his head, “Saw the seer?”<br/><br/>Then he, too, broke into a laugh.<br/><br/>“We need to <em> sleep </em> , Marco!”<br/><br/>Dark afternoons, even in the rain, hadn’t turned them off from selling before.<br/><br/>“Yeah, I… agree.” Marco breathed out, finally beginning to relax.<br/><br/>They walked back over to Jean’s poor horse, with the former mounting it first.<br/><br/>Jean extended his hand to help Marco up, and was shocked when Marco instead simple held onto it, looking up at him.<br/><br/>“Marco…?” He looked down, blinking in confusion through the rain.<br/><br/>“ <em> Jean </em> , I need you to ask around. I <b>have</b> to know….”<br/><br/>They stared at each other, wordless.<br/><br/>“I already <em> did </em> .”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If any of you saw me promise this would be out yesterday and are pointing and laughing at me? </p><p>Same.</p><p>Now comment so that I can fully gauge your laughter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Conversation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Marco and Armin finally meet and talk for more than 12 seconds.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Special thanks to Chellyla and Dollyb0y for finishing, as well as anyone who's ever commented, kudosesesd, or raised that hit counter.</p><p>Also this has only been skim edited before posting so when you read through it and go "That is such an obvious mistake what happened here" I'll get to it. But I'm posting this at? 4 in the morning. And I wanna get some sleep, but I also wanted this out before April and today's the last day for that so pretend this is the Limited Release you subscribed to my p*treon for to get early access! Oooh! Very exclusive!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Take the ridge for the rest of the week, won’t you?”<br/><br/>It was Jean’s simple demand, disguised as a suggestion.<br/><br/>“You might just have a stroke, otherwise.”<br/><br/>He was worried about Marco’s interest in the seer, even after having explained everything he’d been able to find out about the man.<br/><br/>But, it was to be expected. Marco didn’t often go chasing after things on a whim! Especially so, not a person who had already stolen from them numerous times and had every reason to ensure Marco never told anyone the truth.<br/><br/>Not that he’d ever heard of seers <em>murdering people</em>, but he’d never heard of them committing serial theft, either.<br/><br/><br/><br/>Though it felt much more like a punishment, than a suggestion meant to Marco’s life easier. He usually only had to come up here once, maybe twice a year? Jean usually handled it, he was just better at reading the more <em>fickle</em> nature of the rich.<br/><br/>Sasha had handled it last month, and she did her best to explain just whose temperament to look out for this time. Marco could handle it well enough, especially when most of his potential customers were private shoppers, other high end merchants, and the <em>least</em> complicated to barter with; Servants.<br/><br/>Walking slowly out of his last stop of the day, another wealthy noble’s primary estate, he glanced over at the swath of uniformed servant girls minding laundry near the front gates. A very <em>odd</em> place to be folding laundry.<br/><br/>They were waiting for him, and they didn’t seem <em>too</em> concerned with how obvious they made their own glances.<br/><br/>A few he’d recognized from the estate down the street. Likely, they’d known exactly what sort of things he was prepared to sell.<br/><br/>No matter how many times Marco did this, it was always, more or less, the same outcome.<br/><br/>He didn’t hesitate walking towards them off to the side, reaching into one of the satchels slung across his shoulder to pull out a roll of leather.<br/><br/>The girls all stopped their whispering and chatter, straightening their postures as they tossed laundry into baskets beside them. It was the kind of dignified, ‘proper’ behavior they were supposed to have when meeting guests.<br/><br/>“I’m not sure if I have much any of you would be interested in, though, the lady of the house wasn’t interested in any of these.” Unrolling the leather revealed a wide array of different accessories. Mostly brooches and hair pins, with a ribbon or two in the mix.<br/><br/>Nothing was so extravagant they couldn’t afford one, though Marco wasn’t lying before, either. There were some more expensive ones that the lady of the house <em>had</em> snubbed her nose at.<br/><br/>Marco had been through this twice earlier in the week, and was sure he’d finally come to a perfect understanding on what the younger servants could afford these days.<br/><br/>“It’s the dry season right around now, isn’t it? One of you must have something to celebrate!”<br/><br/>Their own wedding, their cousin’s wedding, their best friend’s wedding, their mother’s second or third wedding? Someone’s wedding. Most of them <em>looked</em> old enough to be well on their way to getting married.<br/><br/>Looks were exchanged between some of the girls, quick and telling in secretive ways Marco didn’t have to think hard to translate.<br/><br/>“<em>Ah</em>, you’re not usually the one who comes through here, right? I haven’t seen Jean for a while, is all. Do you know if he’ll ever be coming back?”<br/><br/>The woman who’d said it was definitely on the younger side, but not so much that she might’ve gotten the wrong idea about what Jean’s true interests were.<br/><br/>Despite the annoyed look one of the other servants gave her, Marco only looked to her with a genuine smile.<br/><br/>“Jean? He’s actually doing <em>me</em> a favor! I can’t <em>promise</em> he’ll be through here again before we leave, but he’ll be around next month for sure.”<br/><br/>Whatever it was Jean did, or didn’t do? He could fix it himself.<br/><br/>“His favorite color <em>is</em> yellow, if that’s any help.”<br/><br/>It wasn’t a <em>lie</em>… but Marco also had a yellow ribbon to sell.<br/><br/>One of the ladies barely held back her laughter, while the curious one in question had already anxiously pulled out what looked to be her <em>entire</em> allowance for the week.<br/><br/>“He’s always telling us of all the places he’s been; Will you be gone long this time!?”<br/><br/>Marco was beginning to see why these girls, who likely hadn’t seen much of the world outside of the city gates, might become infatuated with Jean’s… stories.<br/><br/>“It <em>is</em> just about wedding season, isn’t it? I haven’t been called to bless any unions yet, though.”<br/><br/>Marco didn’t know <em>what</em> it was he felt, but he kept himself still. Focused on his customers, as he was meant to. Like he had a thousand times before. Only <em>just</em> looking to the side.<br/><br/>Silent as that last time Marco heard the man spoke, a blue-eyed man in brown hooded robes, stepped casually into the property of Lady Conrad’s manor without permission. Not like he <em>needed</em> it, of course.<br/><br/>The servants all gave some attention to him, <em>to the seer</em>, ignorant to what kind of person he really was, or what was happening here.<br/><br/>As ignorant as Marco, really. Or close enough.<br/><br/>The seer stayed closer to the servants, a few feet further away than Marco. He didn’t even take a glance in Marco’s direction.<br/><br/>“I’m sure there are <em>plenty</em> of ways to make young women like yourselves more desirable. Though there’s nothing more attractive than a generous soul.”<br/><br/>He held out a black bag, similar to what Marco had seen him do before.<br/><br/>The servants <em>all</em> took on a flush, different from the excited, anticipating ones from their long wait for Marco, pretending to fold laundry.<br/><br/>Girls who hadn’t been so eager to rummage through their coin purses before, pulled out at a few brass coins, quickly letting them slide into the bag one by one as they sheepishly dispersed. Some quickly picking up baskets of laundry, heading towards the side garden. A small handful heading out through the gate.<br/><br/>Even the servant with some infatuation with Jean, let two shining iron coins fall into the bag before she darted off to meet with her peers.<br/><br/>Marco was slow to roll up the leather mat. It was a much slower movement than the effortless way the seer had slipped the black bag somewhere into his robes. Marco imagined there were probably as many pockets within the robes as there were within his own coat.<br/><br/>The seer watched Marco as he did this, still keeping his distance.<br/><br/>Maybe he didn’t want to be grabbed again.<br/><br/>“You know….” Marco began, shoving the roll into his satchel. “You have quite the knack for convincing others. Ever consider becoming a merchant?”<br/><br/>He smiled, only half-joking. The comment only being <em>partially</em> responsible for the grin.<br/><br/>“<em>You</em> should be ashamed. Servant girls can’t possibly afford pretty trinkets; They’re not <em>meant</em> to!”<br/><br/>The seer’s words, from anyone else, might bother Marco. Not in that it would upset him, but it <em>would</em> take up his time. Waste valuable energy that could be spent making a sale to someone else.<br/><br/>He also found it hard to believe that the seer was being genuine, either.<br/><br/>Marco raised a brow, taking a quick look around to see if any of the more gossip prone servants had stuck around.<br/><br/>Not a soul to be seen.<br/><br/>“I,” Marco stopped, breathing out what might’ve grown into a laugh, had the seer not been staring at him with such an unreadable face.<br/><br/>“I <em>know</em> they can’t afford it. Most of them can’t! But the one or two who <em>do</em> end up with something to make themselves happy, and impress the other girls. The girls who <em>can’t</em> afford it, well, they tell their richer boyfriends about it. And then I end up selling to <em>them</em> next month at the market. And the girls who go without? They save up, and they are the one or two who buy something <em>next time</em>.”<br/><br/>A predictable, endless cycle. There would always be young women who wanted to feel a bit more special than their means allowed. To walk around with a similar bit of elegance the noble ladies they served always did.<br/><br/>“<em>Well then</em>, you have quite a lovely little scam going for you. I have no use for money, or your merchants’ schemes.”<br/><br/>Marco couldn’t help but laugh at that! He brought a hand to his face, rubbing his nose and then running his fingers through his hair. This was a <em>very</em> different, but all the same exciting, reunion they were having to what he’d expected.<br/><br/>“<em>Schemes</em>?! Look, you must have <em>some</em> need for money, <em>and schemes</em>, with how much you’ve stolen from me, hm, <em>Armin</em>?”<br/><br/>Marco did try to keep his voice low. Eyes were great for gossip, but <em>ears</em> were better for the far more profitable blackmail.<br/><br/>The seer’s expression turned to shock, and betrayed a glimmer of the <em>fear</em> Marco knew he’d seen the first time they’d met.<br/><br/>“I told you… I owed them.” The seer, Armin, replied just as quiet.<br/><br/>Not wanting to wind up chasing the man across the city again, Marco tried his best not to look threatening. He maintained the distance between them, and let his arms hang at his side, one hand gipping onto a satchel strap.<br/><br/>“You’d think it would be <em>hard</em>? Trying to get the name of a seer off just looks alone, but,” Marco held back a laugh. “I did some research.”<br/><br/>Well, <em>Jean</em> did the research, and Marco just ate it all up as soon as it was delivered to him.<br/><br/>“You’re trouble.” Marco said it with a hint of humor in his voice.<br/><br/>“...Why is that any of your business?”<br/><br/>Any bit of fear that might have been on Armin’s face before, was now gone. He looked, again, unreadable.<br/><br/>Marco knew that, for whatever reason, there still had to be some intrigue there. For a seer to go through such effort to keep meeting him? There <b>must</b> have been. Right?<br/><br/>“For good reasons? And, how did <em>you</em> know to find <em>me</em> here?” It was no secret that Marco was going to be in noble’s district today, but their specific trade schedules were <em>not</em> public knowledge.<br/><br/>The seer crossed his arms, looking Marco up and down. So, Armin was still going to be on the defensive? That was fair. To a degree.<br/><br/>“I’ve done my <em>own</em> research. I knew the Silver Feather’s were still in the city, so I asked someone where you might be. I came up here and walked around until I found you. <em>Marco Bott</em>.”<br/><br/>Marco wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.<br/><br/>For one, if he was hearing the man correctly; Had Armin really just… wandered the hills of the nobility all day <em>hoping</em> he’d bump into Marco?<br/><br/>Secondly, was he actually trying to be, in any way, <em>intimidating</em> by saying Marco’s name like that?<br/><br/>There were moments, maybe just one, between them both. Staring at each other on a noblewoman’s property, putting dents in the manicured lawn by just standing there for no reason.<br/><br/>“Did you… come here to tell me you’ve paid off that debt? The day we rode in, nothing was, <em>misplaced</em>.”<br/><br/>Marco wasn’t about to mention the crime outright again, just to be on the safe side.<br/><br/>Armin glanced away, but his arms fell to his side.<br/><br/>“I don’t want to talk here.”<br/><br/>That wasn’t a ‘yes’.<br/><br/>Armin looked back to Marco, “But I can make up for, <em>whatever</em>, it is that’s gone. Will you come with me?”<br/><br/>Marco didn’t let his body betray his thoughts as they formulated. The power of mind reading, thankfully, was not something seers could do. At least not as far as Marco was educated.<br/><br/>Did Armin really not know what it was he’d been helping steal these past years?<br/><br/>Looking up to the sky, Marco considered his options. The sun would be on its way to begin setting within the hour, and anything left he had to do today was simply an extra grind of productivity that didn’t guarantee him any sales.<br/><br/>Stroking the egos of other traders in the higher end bars and taverns for the next few hours, even with the good food taken into account? Was sounding less appealing now than it ever had.<br/><br/>That, and one could argue that it was much more important, financially, to settle the business with a thief who’d plundered significant enough inventory over the past years that would get any <em>ordinary</em> citizen imprisoned at <em>least</em>. Should the Silver Feather’s press charges, anyway.<br/><br/>“Alright.”<br/><br/>Marco met Armin’s eyes once more, a sternness to him now. There was truthfully very little that he <em>did</em> find out about the seer, and it was Marco’s curiosity that kept him so optimistic about what the man might <em>really</em> want from him.<br/><br/>“I’m rather invested in, <em>whatever it is</em>, you’ve really been up to. Did you have some place private in mind?”<br/><br/>With how hard it was to get a conversation out of the seer, Marco wasn’t about to put his foot down and insist that <em>he</em> choose the venue.<br/><br/>“Meet me outside the iron gates-- <b><em>before</em></b> the sun sets.”<br/><br/>Armin did not wait for his demand to be acknowledged, turning and walking away.<br/><br/>His dried grass shoes should have made <em>some</em> noise, even on the polished pavers of these higher end roads. But like the time before, there was complete silence….<br/><br/>Marco chose to linger at the estate a while longer, not wanting to watch Armin leave. There was only one main way down to the rest of the city, yes, but whatever detours he may take, Marco was not interested in speculating.<br/><br/>Loitering, however, wouldn’t be tolerated. At some point the other servants would have to come back around too, and they’d definitely question him still being there.<br/><br/>Instead, Marco took his time walking. There was quiet up here in the highest ridge of the city, a place where noise was associated with the criminal.<br/><br/>Maybe that was why all of Armin’s movements had been inaudible.<br/><br/>The thought had made Marco painfully aware of how each step made a sound on the polished pale slate road. He avoided each occasional puddle leftover from the downpour earlier that week, without even really meaning to.<br/><br/><br/><br/>“Sasha!” Marco called out as he neared their shared cart parked at the edge of the road.<br/><br/>She took a few moments, and finally stumbled out of the recesses of the cart to give a half wave back.<br/><br/>“You’re a little late; Did the Lady keep you waiting with a <em>proposal</em>?” She laughed after she made the joke, one that Marco ordinarily would’ve been inclined to humor her on.<br/><br/>It wouldn’t be the <em>first</em> time someone with power had used business dealings as a form of entrapment. Most of them hoped to gain a financial, political, and cultural leg up in the world by trying to convince Marco to marry someone of higher means. As if that was something he was concerned about.<br/><br/>“<em>No</em>, I just had some trouble selling to some servants, that’s all. By the way--”<br/><br/>“Awww what’d the little blue maids do now?! Try to haggle you down more for not entertaining them?” Sasha interjected, picking through a newly formed leaflet of receipts and offering them.<br/><br/>“Wait, Sasha,” Marco gestured for her to keep them, and instead slid both his satchels from his shoulders. “I’m going to be out for a bit later tonight, you can handle getting everything back to the inn, right?”<br/><br/>She paused, shoving the receipts in her pocket to exchange them for a small pocket watch.<br/><br/>It had to have been a miracle that this one was still in working order!<br/><br/>“You’re going to walk <em>aaall</em> the way down the river just to walk <em>aaall</em> the way back to the inn? On foot? You might as well just spend the night!” Sasha smirked, and turned away to continue packing up for the evening.<br/><br/>“I’m <em>not</em> going that far, and that’s….” Marco trailed off, deciding it was best not to make clear who exactly he was off to see.<br/><br/>Technically, he was still her boss. But no doubt Jean made a <em>fuss</em> about the way Marco acted on their first day in town for the week, and Sasha wouldn’t let him run off to speak with the mysterious seer.<br/><br/>“<em>Mhmm</em>, right right, sure. I’ll be sure to tell Jean to peel you off the moldy floor of some bar tomorrow morning.”<br/><br/>The scenario forced a thin smile on Marco’s face, as he tried desperately not to smile any wider, or <em>laugh</em>.<br/><br/>“You do that.”<br/><br/>He placed his satchels gently on the back of the cart, giving them a nudge to ensure they wouldn’t fall off. The receipts followed suit, getting tucked tight into one of the bags for safe-keeping.<br/><br/>“<em>You better protect yourself</em>!” Sasha called after him.<br/><br/>Marco would let her believe what she wanted, though he couldn’t deny the excitement that had sparked within him as he made his way towards the iron gates.<br/><br/>There was a chance Armin wouldn’t even be waiting for him, and he might wind up wandering the city into the cold night like Jean had warned him not to do.<br/><br/>While he hadn’t heard anything about Armin being violent, though, he could very well be <em>angry</em> with Marco for having put his hands on him. As far as ‘protection’ went, Marco really only did have a knife at his disposal in the event he was surprised with violence….<br/><br/>He was intrigued to find out which it might be.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>Passing through the tall iron gates from the inside was never a problem, especially not for someone who’d made a decent enough presence among the nobility. Marco wouldn’t mind having a seer’s trust, though! Coming and going without question. Without it being taken down on record.<br/><br/>There was a slight anxiety Marco had, as he kept peering up to the west. As if at any moment, the sun might just plummet and turn the sky a burning orange, instead of the hazy deep blue it was now.<br/><br/>He tried not to let the irrational worry show too much, especially when he was near enough away from the main gates now that he was <em>sure</em> he would have to have seen Armin by now.<br/><br/>Marco didn’t want to look desperate, or confused. He very rarely was either of those things, and it did numbers on his thoughts at night knowing just one man had made him feel <em>both</em> of those things to such intensity in the mere two months they knew each other even existed.<br/><br/>“So you listened.”<br/><br/>Marco didn’t immediately whip around in shock, like some spooked cat. He wasn't going to ask, no matter how much he wanted to, how or why Armin managed to get around so quietly.<br/><br/>The answer was magic. Marco didn’t have to understand how it worked, and he was <em>fairly</em> certain Armin wouldn’t explain it to him anyway.<br/><br/>Marco turned around fully, meeting Armin’s gaze as casually as he could.<br/><br/>“Well, you did catch me at my final stop for the day.”<br/><br/>Conveniently.<br/><br/>“...It’s going to be dark soon; Follow me.”<br/><br/>Armin walked past Marco, keeping the same distance he had between them earlier. Which didn’t bother Marco, really! He could respect the seer’s personal space <em>now</em>, and he imagined that any kind of magic that could do him harm wouldn’t be concerned with distance either way. This was all for the benefit of <em>Armin</em>, and his peace of mind. Not Marco’s.<br/><br/>He knew they were on their way to get some place private to talk, but as Marco took note of the different street signs they passed, he felt the need for conversation growing.<br/><br/>“I’m sure you probably already know,” Marco began, as they slowly made their way further out of the more affluent portion outside the ridge. “I sent some windchimes to the main church; Did you get a chance to see them?”<br/><br/>The rush job turned out fairly well in Marco’s opinion. Each chime was just a little bit different from the last, something he’d personally requested, and just as he’d initially planned? Their lead wagon was adorned with one of the less perfect models.<br/><br/>“<em>Hhm</em>!”<br/><br/>Armin didn’t falter, though his change of pace was noticeable.<br/><br/>“Those, <em>death traps</em>, have been nothing but a nuisance! They keep falling in the courtyards; Broken glass isn’t easy to clean up from <em>dirt</em>, mind you. We had to take them all down.”<br/><br/>Marco’s brows flattened, a sigh following a moment after.<br/><br/>“<em>Oh</em>? I take it you’re not a fan, then. How were they all hung up?”<br/><br/>A small pang of disappointment formed at the back of Marco’s mind. He’d only sent <em>so many</em>… to ensure that Armin saw them.<br/><br/>“It doesn’t matter how they were-- We’ve <em>already</em> sustained injuries dealing with them! This is why we don’t accept ‘gifts’. There are far better ways to apologize.”<br/><br/>Such a persistence in Armin’s voice, it had Marco worried that the man might’ve actually <b>hated</b> the wind chimes, rather than appreciate them for what they were.<br/><br/>He was curious as to what Armin <em>did</em> find as a valid apology, given his secret reputation for… mischief.<br/><br/>“I’m sorry, I thought they were… nice. I kept a few, and they’re still alright. But,” Marco breathed deeply, letting the failure go. “You have a point. Glass wasn’t really the best thing to send.”<br/><br/>Though, he’d been confident he killed two birds with one stone! Extending his favor towards the Fritz family, and offering an apology to Armin.<br/><br/>Armin offered no argument or comment, not even a nod to show his feelings on the admission of guilt. Not so much as a glance behind him.<br/><br/>Whatever reason it could’ve been for, Marco didn’t have the time to speculate. They neared an old alleyway, where at its end was a large hole in the wall similar to the one Marco had ran into when he’d tried chasing Armin down.<br/><br/>So he <em>hadn’t</em> been lost, or even crazy, to think the seer fled to such an ominous tunnel.<br/><br/>This <em>wasn’t</em> the same one as before, though. The opening was a bit wider, and it wasn’t as dark and echoey as it had been during the rainfall.<br/><br/>“Are you coming?”<br/><br/>Marco realized he’d slowed down to a stop just before walking into the tunnel, lost in the memory.<br/><br/>“...Yeah, I am. Sorry.”<br/><br/>As they ventured deeper in, Marco heard running water again. Less vigorous than the last time. Soon, he was amazed to see <em>why</em>.<br/><br/>“Where… are we?”<br/><br/>The pale old stones that made up the floor started to branch out, with gaps in the center of the tunnel just filled with water. It was impossible to judge how deep it was, especially taking the recent rain into account.<br/><br/>Marco knew Willow’s Hill had a sewer system, but, <em>this</em> wasn’t it. Yet he had the strange sense that they were still going <em>underground</em>.<br/><br/>Armin kept his silence, <em>and</em> his distance. Every time Marco tried to walk quicker, as the tunnels inevitably made it harder to see, Armin kept up and matched the pace, maintaining a few meter’s distance between them.<br/><br/>For a fracture of a moment, Marco considered the fact that this was a prime spot for hiding a body.<br/><br/>That didn’t stop him from following Armin’s every turn, though, even as the tunnel system became more complex. Occasionally stepping over the ‘river’ of water that divided the pathways, making the way back even harder to remember.<br/><br/>“<em>Armin</em>.” Marco stopped walking, looking around at the tunnel walls. “Did… did you not like the wind chimes?”<br/><br/>The question made Armin falter, finally stopping to turn and give Marco a crooked brow.<br/><br/>“What I don’t <em>like</em>, is being <em>investigated</em>.”<br/><br/>He gestured around with his hands, “You want to know where we are…? You really are an outsider, aren’t you?”<br/><br/>Marco’s brows were knit, similarly to Armin’s, though his were out of a more naive confusion.<br/><br/>When the Silver Feather’s Guild allowed Marco to start traveling into other countries, Marco made it a habit to properly vet and learn the ins and outs of most cities’ layout and culture in addition to the obvious economic learning curve.<br/><br/>But, <em>no</em>, he didn’t know where they were. Was this an <em>old</em> sewer system? It seemed <em>bigger</em> than the current one, so that couldn’t have been it, could it?<br/><br/>Armin let his hands rest at his side again, breathing out his nose. Was he disappointed? Or was this about what he expected from Marco?<br/><br/>“There wasn’t always a river in Willow’s Hill; I imagine they would have called it something equally lacking in creativity otherwise. River’s Something Or Other, probably.”<br/><br/>Was that a joke?<br/><br/>“A few hundred years ago, it was just too dry out here for an aqueduct <em>above</em> ground. Before people lived by the river, they lived <em>here</em>,” Armin explained, glancing off in the distance.<br/><br/>Marco noticed the larger, seemingly pointless openings in some of the walls, and it became apparent to him why the system seemed so confusing.<br/><br/>It was laid out more like a city, than a sewer.<br/><br/>“But then we prayed too much for rain, the ‘Big Storm’ came, gave us a nice big river, and flooded the place. So everyone stuck down here died and now they won’t leave.”<br/><br/>Marco grimaced at the nonchalant tone Armin had, but it <em>did</em> remind him of why he didn’t recall these tunnels before.<br/><br/>He was <em>told</em> never to go through any underground tunnels, because they were dangerous. But the danger being... ghosts? That little tidbit was left out.<br/><br/>“I… I’m sorry,” Marco chuckled. “I, I don’t believe in ghosts. You didn’t bring me down here to, what, scare me, did you?”<br/><br/>Armin didn’t look pleased.<br/><br/>“I brought you down here because you’re a foreigner who doesn’t know any better, because spirits don’t<b> bother </b>seers; Because <em>no one else</em> comes down here. How can you not believe in <em>ghosts</em> when you know magic is real?”<br/><br/>Marco looked around again, marveling the fact that the place was still standing, if Armin’s little history lesson was accurate.<br/><br/>He knew when he first saw the tunnels it felt more like a <b>tomb</b> than anything else.<br/><br/>“They <em>exist</em>, I just… don’t think they have any power we should be afraid of, is all.”<br/><br/>Armin scoffed, shaking his head.<br/><br/>“You would get <em>lost</em> and starve down here if it weren’t for me. I could just <em>run away</em> and never come back, you know.”<br/><br/>Marco had to laugh, not because the notion of dying was silly, no! But because he couldn’t believe that Armin would threaten him, even to be hyperbolic.<br/><br/>“I thought you might bring me down here for your <em>friends</em> to take care of me for knowing too much, or something dramatic like that….” Trailing off, Marco thought less about a quirky comeback, and more about what it was he’d been worried about from the beginning.<br/><br/>“You… <em>did</em> pay off your debt to them, didn’t you?”<br/><br/>Armin’s frustration morphed into something more of a fluster, his stance less rigid now. His eyes softening, lips relaxing.<br/><br/>“Why are you so concerned with <em>my</em> debts? Are you offering to pay it off?”<br/><br/>The second half was said not so much as a joke, but more of a knowing tone.<br/><br/>Marco was no saint, no philanthropist, not a bank. He didn’t go around clearing debts for people. Especially not so for strangers, and people who <em>stole from him</em>.<br/><br/>“No, but, I just wonder,” Marco stared into Armin’s eyes with sincerity, “Are you going to stop stealing, was <em>whatever you took</em> last time enough to make it even? Or,” The sincerity didn’t vanish, but his tone took on a darker meaning. “Are you looking for a new strategy to keep doing it? Because, I can’t allow that.”<br/><br/>It wasn’t a threat, it wasn’t meant to scare, or even intimidate, really. Marco just wanted to make it clear that he was only giving a free pass to Armin’s past deeds, not anything in the future.<br/><br/>Armin, luckily, didn’t look intimidated at all.<br/><br/>He <em>knew</em> he was protected, no matter what.<br/><br/>“I promise you won’t lose anything anymore, not by <em>my</em> doing.”<br/><br/>Marco’s eyes narrowed, “That… doesn’t answer my question.”<br/><br/>“There are other ways I’ll find to pay what I owe. Does it matter, so long as I’m not stealing from <em>you</em>?”<br/><br/>He had a point, Marco gave him that. His competitors might suffer more from this new, vague arrangement, but… that wasn’t really a problem for him, either.<br/><br/>Still, the situation didn’t sit quite right with Marco.<br/><br/>“Wh--.... <em>Look</em>, Armin,” Marco sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re a seer; Can’t you argue that whatever it is these people did for you was an <em>obligation</em> to help you?”<br/><br/>“Are you trying to…?”<br/><br/>Armin’s expression went from confused, to surprised.<br/><br/>“You’re trying to tell me how to weasel my way out of things? That’s… <em>well</em>, that’s--” He brought a gloved hand up to his mouth, muffling a small laugh into it. Hiding the light flush to his face, which quite frankly, was hard to notice with the distance and dim of the tunnels anyway.<br/><br/>He composed himself, lowering his hand, leaning against the wall. His guard was down. “This all happened <em>before</em> I was part of the church, so, <em>thank you</em>, but that’s not an option.”<br/><br/>Marco breathed out his nose softly. His dissatisfaction went unnoticed.<br/><br/>“What could <em>possibly</em> be worth so much that you can’t have paid back for years--?”<br/><br/><b><em>Oh.</em></b><br/><br/>Armin looked at him again, and an understanding was shared between them. Perhaps for the first time in all their interactions with each other.<br/><br/>“A <em>life</em> debt, huh?” Marco’s voice was so quiet, barely above a mutter. Had they not been in such an echo chamber, peaceful and undisturbed, it might have gone completely unheard.<br/><br/>He resisted the urge to run <em>both</em> his hands through his hair. To groan. To throw out a curse just for the flavor of it. To laugh, because he wasn’t one for screaming when things didn’t go his way, or crying.<br/><br/>Marco could only <em>imagine</em>…. To have a seer, a <em>real seer</em>, in your debt? In your debt nearly <b>forever</b>?<br/><br/>“Well,” Marco laughed, “Just put their life in danger and save them, then! That’s fair, hm?”<br/><br/>Not something Marco would ever <em>seriously</em> recommend, but he was sure a seer could guarantee the safety of someone they’d intentionally jeopardized the safety of.<br/><br/>Armin turned away, likely to hide the small grin that appeared on his face.<br/><br/>“If it were that easy, I’d have paid my debt off already, <em>tenfold</em>…. But I’m a seer, one who’s been part of the Church of the Willow for? More than a generation? Think of all the lives <b><em>I’ve</em></b> saved.”<br/><br/>Marco couldn’t bring himself to be jovial anymore, understanding more or less what Armin was implying.<br/><br/>“You can’t be serious.” Marco gave a much dryer laugh, unintentional.<br/><br/>“You’re letting them count… <em>every life</em> you’ve saved towards--”<br/>“You’re a <b>merchant</b>, do some math.” Armin interrupted with a snap.<br/><br/>“I won’t tell you, <em>who</em>, I’m indebted to. I already know that you don’t know, even with your ‘research’. But if he hadn’t saved my life, I wouldn’t have saved anyone else’s. So, <em>yes</em>, it all adds up. It does count. It all… matters. You’re the only one here who has a problem with that.”<br/><br/>Marco knew there was no reconciliation to be had here. But he was not a seer, or a religious man. But he’d known doctors before with similar philosophies. People who’d been saved by someone, only to repay the service to dedicate their life to doing the same for others.<br/><br/>He <b><em>wholeheartedly</em></b> disagreed with the idea.<br/><br/>But, in a way? Armin was doing just that, albeit with a little crime attached.<br/><br/>Marco stayed quiet. Currently, he was too busy fighting the thoughts swimming through his head. Armin didn’t look like he could be too far off in age from Marco, so whoever saved his life would have done so when he was just… <em>a kid</em>. He didn’t want to think about it. He wasn’t one for pity.<br/><br/>“I can’t apologize for doing what I <em>had</em> to do.” Armin noted. “But I… have to ask.”<br/><br/>Armin got closer, dismantling the tension between them with every step.<br/><br/>“Why did you send the wind chimes?”<br/><br/>It was the kind of thing Marco needed to fully rip him from the thoughts that no doubt, would plague his ability to sleep at night<br/><br/>“To apologize. I tried making that apparent when I delivered them.”<br/><br/>“Apologize? For what, me <em>stealing</em> from <em>you</em>?”<br/><br/>Marco’s brows knit in confusion again, and he shook his head. “No, no, for… for <em>grabbing</em> you.”<br/><br/>The space between them was barely over a meter now, Armin now frozen in place, staring at Marco’s dumbfounded face with unreadable eyes.<br/><br/>“I knew what you were, and, I still grabbed you, and I… I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”<br/><br/>“Why did you think I would want wind chimes?”<br/><br/>That wasn’t quite the acceptance Marco was hoping for.<br/><br/>“I didn’t know <em>what</em> you might like, honestly.”<br/><br/>Armin took a step back, bringing his hands together and rubbing his thumbs across each other. “Well, I suppose they were… interesting. Different?”<br/><br/>A smile twitched at the corner of Marco’s mouth, though he was still a bit too mentally stunted to let it become anything more.<br/><br/>“In that case;” Armin moved his hands behind his back, stepping away to lean against the wall again. “I’ve thought about it, and, if I’m to make up for what’s been stolen? You could tell me what it is you want from me.”<br/><br/>Marco didn’t understand.<br/><br/>After a moment of expectant, anticipating stares were exchanged, it was Armin this time to break the silence.<br/><br/>“You didn’t tell the guards the truth about me stealing, and <em>I</em> didn’t tell the Sages you assaulted me. We’re just going to keep doing that, but what for?”<br/><br/>That made them even, in Marco’s mind. A courtesy between them both to save each other from graver consequences than either would like to have dealt with.<br/><br/>“I’d rather <em>not</em> die, and I assume with what you’ve been doing-- What I know about you and your ‘reputation’, now? You’d rather not have your ear or something cut off for the public’s amusement?”<br/><br/>For a seer it would probably be the public’s <em>terror</em> than amusement, but Marco’s point still made sense.<br/><br/>Armin was quiet for a while, perhaps taking in what Marco was saying.<br/><br/>“See, after looking into you, and your <em>guild</em>? I don’t think they <em>would</em> kill you. I think they would believe you, and they’d believe <em>me</em>, but… people like you. And the Sages like <em>me</em>, so…. I’d keep my ears, I think. You might just end up in prison.”<br/><br/>That much was what Marco had assumed. Why such a strict doctrine would allow such a rebellious seer go unpunished, especially one who wasn’t a Sage, could only be from some kind of special treatment. A soft spot. The exception to the rules.<br/><br/>“I… well, thank you?” Marco liked the idea of <em>not</em> dying in a strange country over religious extremism. But, he still didn’t know what Armin was getting at. He didn’t really <em>want</em> any physical thing from Armin.<br/><br/>“So, I can’t decide if you owe me, or if I owe you.”<br/><br/>No.<br/><br/>“Have you ever, <b>legally</b>, been in debt to a Gardener before, Marco?”<br/><br/><b>No</b>, this was not what Marco wanted.<br/><br/>“It doesn’t happen <em>often</em>, catching a Gardener break the law. But you can’t just throw Gardeners in jail or, <em>maim them</em>, for breaking the law like regular folk. Normally we’re made to fulfill some kind of… contract.”<br/><br/>The more Armin explained, the colder Marco felt. The darker the winding corridors of the waterways felt. Cold, and <em>dry</em>. Dry mouth, dry hands, dry eyes, dry. Just dry and cold.<br/><br/>“I’m not interested.” Marco finally forced out.<br/><br/>Armin’s head tilted slightly, a curiosity on his face. “...I don’t care.”<br/><br/>This was not even in the realm of possibility for what Marco thought might come of this, and if it had? It would have been close to one of the last things he would have liked to happen.<br/><br/>“I-- I don’t want your services-- I don’t even <em>know</em> what that means!” There was a heaviness to Marco’s breathing, a stress in his voice that while he would have preferred wasn’t there? Wasn’t being paid any attention to anyway.<br/><br/>Armin paused, looking down at his dry grass shoes.<br/><br/>“Well, anything, really. I could, give you gardening advice. Or heal a few of your wounds. Or,” He smiled a little, “I <em>do</em> hear a lot of people talk. I could give you information; They don’t call us <em>wallflowers</em> for nothing. People forget we’re around sometimes.”<br/><br/>“I’m <b><em>not</em></b>--”<br/>“<em>And</em> I… for what <em>you</em> would owe <em>me</em>? I…. You should get me something. I’ll tell you something, and you bring me something.”<br/><br/>Marco tried to slow himself down, taking notice of Armin’s proposition more seriously now.<br/><br/>This didn’t sound like the kind of intense never-ending debt that came from blackmail.<br/><br/>“What do you need? I can get almost anything.”<br/><br/>If this was a complex way to try shaking him down for something specific, Marco might just take the bait, and gladly. Anything to get out of mutual, potentially never-ending debt to each other.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, Armin looked offended.<br/><br/>“I don’t <em>need</em> anything from you!”<br/><br/>Of course not. Naturalist philosophy. Greed, materialism, attachment to the unnecessary, etc. were all bad. Okay.<br/><br/>“What do you <em>want</em> then? I really can get you almost anything.” There was desperation in his voice.<br/><br/>The ‘almost’ was a bit of a habit to include, no matter who he was talking to. After enough clients somehow managed to request the perfectly <em>wrong</em> things for him to procure.<br/><br/>Armin lifted his chin, a sort of superiority in his voice as he spoke, “Why should I know what I want? You haven’t told me what you want yet, either.”<br/><br/>Marco might just <em>take</em> the death sentence now and let that be that! This was ridiculous.<br/><br/>“Wha--!? You tell me you don’t need anything, you don’t <em>want</em> for anything, but, but you <em>still</em> want to insist on this… arrangement? I’ve only been trying to <b>help</b> you and--”<br/>“I’m <em>sorry</em>, should I be grateful to you for deciding my problems were yours to help solve? I’m giving you an opportunity to, to ‘help’. You’re the <em>worldly millionaire trader</em>, surely you can figure out something you want from me and something to <b><em>give me</em></b> in return!”<br/><br/>Oh, he should have <em>listened</em>. He should have stayed with Sasha like Jean wanted him to. He should have stayed in the market square when they arrived in the storm. He should have let Armin run off into the unknown instead of <em>grabbing him</em> and getting all curious and nosy and empathetic.<br/><br/>This was why Marco didn’t <em>concern himself</em> with matters of religion! He had turned down a hundred inquiries from religious institutions before and now he was <b>sure</b> he’d turn down a thousand more.<br/><br/>“I’m <em>leaving</em> town soon, how do you expect me to find you something you ‘might like’ by then?”<br/><br/>Marco honestly could not find a bright side to this. Earlier, when he’d imagined what it might be like to have a seer in his debt, he hadn’t wanted to have it for himself. Especially not like this.<br/><br/>Armin did not seem to rise to the aggravation that was building. “You act so upset, what for? You’ll be back. And you’ll be back again after that, too. What, five times a year? Every year, right?”<br/><br/>Marco shook his head, “No, no, this… this isn’t something we’re just going to <em>do</em> forever. I will bring you things <b>until</b> I find you something you <em>actually like</em>, and that will be the end of it.”<br/><br/>He was so dumbfounded by the audacity of Armin’s arrangement, that Marco was strangely willing to accept the deal just in the hopes he could quash the mistake he’d made as soon as possible.<br/><br/>Armin looked surprised, but, there was a pleasance in his voice, too. Like maybe, this wasn’t a strange, convoluted business deal. Or a ‘scheme’. Maybe he really did <em>want</em> something.<br/><br/>“You’ll really do that for me?”<br/><br/>For <em>him</em>?<br/><br/>“I? Yes, I’ll do it. Fine.”<br/><br/>Marco really did just want to help a man out of an unfair debt, in a way that wouldn’t cost anybody. To <em>apologize</em> for hurting someone who, despite whatever crimes he might’ve had a habit of committing, only ever knew untouchable safety.<br/><br/>Now they were both in debt, a <em>stupid</em>, petty debt.<br/><br/>Marco was <em>never</em> going to turn Armin in. What good would punishing him even do? It wouldn’t bring back his stolen things. It wouldn’t change the situation Armin was in. He would get no joy from it, either.<br/><br/>Armin pulled his hood down, revealing more of his face, and the light golden hair that was expertly tied in what might’ve been a braid.<br/><br/>“Thank you, <em>Marco</em>,” He extended his left hand, “Now we shake hands don’t we?”<br/><br/>He couldn’t stay too frustrated at such a genuine, almost <em>eager</em> gesture. So, begrudgingly, Marco offered his own hand. There was a bit of hesitation, as, this would <em>still</em> technically be considered a sin. But he was being given permission now, and no one else was there to dispute that.<br/><br/>Their hands hovered in the air next to each other, awkwardly. Marco too unsure to make contact first, and Armin likely too sheltered to understand that <em>someone</em> was going to have to do it.<br/><br/>“Uhhm.…” Armin broke their eye contact, looking at their hands.<br/><br/>“If, you’re ever calling for me at the church? Don’t use my name. Ask for Dandelion.” Armin’s gaze nervously flicked back up to stare into Marco’s.<br/><br/>Before Marco could ask why, Armin was the one to make the final move. He grabbed Marco’s exposed hand and gave it strong, quick shake, before ripping his hand back to his side like he’d touched a hot fire.<br/><br/>Marco pulled his own arm back, hoping to erase the awkward exchange from their memories.<br/><br/>“Is that, your title?” Marco was only just recently trying to decipher the inner workings of the Church of the Willow, and how exactly their titles and rankings worked pass their base level.<br/><br/>The quick grimace that flashed on Armin’s face only told him everything he <em>needed</em> to know; That Armin probably thought Marco was stupid and ignorant.<br/><br/>“Dandelion is my <em>name</em>.”<br/><br/>Marco didn’t question it further, simply giving a slight nod.<br/><br/>“B-but don’t, don’t <em>call</em> me that if I’m <em>here</em>.”<br/><br/>Marco <em>desperately</em> wanted to question it further.<br/><br/>“Okay, Armin, I’ll… call you Armin.”<br/><br/>“Thank you. Follow me.”<br/><br/>Exasperated, Marco had no business arguing. If the seer wanted to throw him into the water and watch him drown for fun, he wouldn’t even mind it at this point. Whether he was being taken out of the old ‘cursed’ waterways or not, he didn’t have the energy to care.<br/><br/>It was a quiet, peaceful meander about through the complex tunnel system, and Marco was <em>extra</em> careful not to trip any time they had to step over the streams of water.<br/><br/>“Don’t ever come back in here without me, okay?” Armin was more soft spoken now than when he’d revealed the tragic history of the place earlier.<br/><br/>“Wasn’t planning on it.”<br/><br/>They may have proven useful for navigating the city quicker, even transporting certain goods more efficiently, even. But Marco guessed that nobody had any maps left of the place, so they weren’t going to serve him any purpose.<br/><br/>“I <em>mean</em> it. Spirits are <em>petty</em>, and they wouldn’t like you.”<br/><br/>Marco breathed out his nose, this time in a sense of laughter rather than negativity.<br/><br/>“Then they’ll never have to worry about seeing me ever again, alright?”<br/><br/>Armin made a small noise, for which Marco decided to take as agreement.<br/><br/>When the fiery sky finally greeted them, a deep indigo was peeking out from the skyline. They’d been down there for what felt like forever and nothing all at once, yet they’d only been down there for <em>maybe</em> an hour.<br/><br/>“...Do you know where we are?” Armin asked, pulling his hood back up.<br/><br/>Marco walked forward and past him, peering around to find a street sign. “Yes? Yes, I think so. I, should be able to get back to my inn from here.”<br/><br/>“Goodnight then.”<br/><br/>Marco turned just in time to see Armin disappear back into the tunnel, which no doubt was going to grow pitch black soon. Though, Marco didn’t worry. By now, he was quite certain that Armin, victim to an unfair debt or not, was the resilient type.<br/><br/>Taking one long look at the moons in the sky, Marco let out a heavy sigh. He’d rather be flattering an aristocrat in a high end tavern or restaurant right now.<br/><br/>On the well-paced, slow walk back to his lodgings, Marco would have to come up with some kind of explanation. One that, hopefully, <em>wouldn’t</em> end with Jean threatening to kill him. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'll level with you. This is going to be longer than 8 chapters. Depends on how much I write, because the analytics say long chapters are BAD! Can you believe that I was going to include this with the last 2 chapters as 1 whole chapter? Yeah I'm a disaster. </p><p>Comment?</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr, blog name ritzy-bird</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Water, for the Seeds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Marco might be at peace with the deal he's struck, but is it better to accept things instead of worrying?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OKAY UNEDITED BECAUSE THIS IS LATE... if you see an embarrassing typo simply do not see it. When I reread this later I will cringe and fix it so fast you'll forget it happened. Trust.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Part of Marco just couldn’t be up front about it.<br/><br/>“What kind of gift do you give to someone who doesn’t need anything?”<br/><br/>To the handful of those he was sharing a room with this visit, the casual question only came off as strikingly out of character for Marco. <br/><br/>They were right to give him the somewhat quizzical looks. <br/><br/>“You’re back kind of early, how’d it go?” Jean asked, ignoring the question altogether. <br/><br/>“That’s an easy one? Money, of course!” <br/><br/>Lesley’s joke was <em> appreciated </em> , but Marco would need real answers. <br/><br/>Taking off his coat, Marco walked further into their shared room. “Someone who doesn’t want money, either.” <br/><br/>He was still wondering what exactly it was he was going to say to Jean. The entire walk back to the inn, Marco’s thoughts just kept going back and forth on what kind of thing someone like Armin might find interesting. <br/><br/>Jean’s brows scrunched up, either from true interest in Marco’s questions, or confusion at being ignored. <br/><br/>“What kind of <em> gift </em> do you get? For a client, or…?” <br/><br/>“Flowers.” <br/><br/>Marco ignored Jean, again. <br/><br/>Imagining himself giving any member of the church <em> flowers </em> was ironic. He resisted the urge to smile, though. Instead he turned his attention to Rosyln, the one who’d made the new suggestion. <br/><br/>“Why flowers…?” <br/><br/>“Obviously,” She began, not looking up from the pile of receipts she was flipping through. “ <em> Someone </em> ’ <em> s </em> made a woman angry, and thinks they can make up for it with <em> some </em> kind of present--” <br/><br/>She looked up, giving Marco a strained, amused smile, “It won’t work, of course. But it’s the best thing for ‘im if he’s gone and offended the wrong lady.” And she was back at her receipts again. <br/><br/>Marco sighed, shrugging off the disappointment as best he could. Neither of them were being serious. He’d have to ask them, ask <em> everybody </em> , tomorrow. <br/><br/>Leaning down to drop his coat just a few inches above where his bedroll was laid out beside a claimed bed, Marco knew he’d have to tell Jean <em> something </em> . <br/><br/>There were a lot of words to be said, and in a certain way that had to be delicate while also up front. No beating around the bush, as it were. <br/><br/>Jean didn’t like having to flex his linguistic prowess to have a normal conversation with a <em> friend </em> . <br/><br/>“...So how’d it go?” <br/><br/>A normal question they’d normally ask each other on any <em> normal </em> night after a long day of business in a big city. It wasn’t stalling, it was just… getting his bases covered. <br/><br/>“Fine.” Jean stood up off the bed he’d been resting on. He looked to the door, blinking, and then back again at Marco. <br/><br/>“Sasha’s not with you?” <br/><br/>Marco didn’t meet Jean’s eyes, looking away with an almost sheepish grin to his face. “I left her to entertain… whoever she’s bothering now. She has all the receipts, she knows what she’s doing.” <br/><br/>He looked up, but again avoiding Jean’s gaze. Marco focused on the window on the other side of the room, taking in the <em> last </em> remnants of light before the sun fully set. <br/><br/>“You’re acting… <em> weird </em> ,” And Jean <em> laughed </em> . “I…? Is Ros’ right? Are <em> you </em> the one who pissed off some noble Lady?” <br/><br/>Marco smiled thinly, eyes darting straight forward to stare into Jean’s. “Me?” <br/><br/>“I think, <em> you </em> , are the one who has trouble with <em> women </em> up on the hill. A pretty servant in <em> blue </em> , I think?” <br/><br/>Jean’s amusement quickly twitched, shifting into the same thin-lipped, uncomfortable expression as Marco. <br/><br/>“Money’s money.” He mumbled out, refusing to break the eye contact. <br/><br/>Marco was the first to blink, ever so slightly shaking his head. Whatever issues Jean had going on with the maid were his own to handle. That, and with Marco’s new… predicament? He wasn’t going to chastise Jean for, well, whatever it was he’d gotten himself into. <br/><br/>“I need to,” He took a breath. “Tell you something.” <br/><br/>Jean leaned against the wall, pulling Marco closer to him afterwards. The discomfort on his face stayed, but the focus in his eyes told a <em> different </em> story. <br/><br/>“Be honest with me Marco, <em> did </em> you piss somebody off up there?” <br/><br/>They both knew-- They <b>all</b> knew, how important it was for him to be honest about something like that. Angering a maid was one thing, upsetting the wrong person with influence was <b>disastrous</b> . <br/><br/>“No, no. <em> No </em> !” Marco laughed at the irony. He was <em> pretty </em> sure he’d upset Armin, but it wasn’t like Armin could do anything outside of his one threat. It would, at worst, hurt Marco. But everyone else would survive the scandal. <br/><br/>He reached a hand forward to touch one of Jean’s elbows, “It’s nothing like that. I’d tell you, <em> all </em> of you! I just don’t want to talk about it without everyone here. It’s important, but, it’s not like that.” <br/><br/>Jean kept still. There was still the intensity to his eyes, the questioning. The silent kind, because Jean would never press Marco so openly in front of even a handful of the other guild members. <br/><br/>Marco respected it, <em> really </em> , he did. <br/><br/>“Tomorrow. It can <em> definitely </em> wait until tomorrow.” He insisted, taking a step back but leaving his hand on Jean’s arm to linger. “It’s not what you think.” <br/><br/>If anything? It was worse! Only in the personal sense, of course. Where <em> business </em> was concerned, though? This would have to be nothing. <br/><br/><br/>At night, just as Marco predicted, sleep would escape him. Nothing would give him the peace of mind he’d managed to give Jean, no, not with the endless myriad of questions about Armin flooding his mind. Too many to count, and too complicated to give the careful attention they may have deserved. <br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>When the sun peaked up from the horizon, Marco was roused from a hazy half-sleep. There’d been much tossing and turning throughout the night, none of which would have been solved by sleeping in a bed as opposed to his roll on the floor. <br/><br/>At breakfast, though, Marco’s thoughts were not about Armin. Now he’d been focused on how to properly <em> explain </em> his mistake. <br/><br/>He’d wait. He’d have to wait just a bit longer. <br/><br/><br/>The afternoon was comfortingly warm. Not humid, or <em> dry </em> as the season’s namesake would have led one to believe. And just as they almost always did, Jean shared the lead cart with Marco. It would be a great time to talk privately. <br/><br/>Especially so considering they’d yet to meet up with their smaller joint caravan, which had been taking care of the smaller surrounding towns on the opposite side of the valley. <br/><br/>Yet still, Marco wasn’t quite comfortable enough to broach the subject. <br/><br/>The rare, forgiving weather for the season ended up going to waste. <br/><br/><br/>In the evening when they’d combined their full group again, looking over receipts and discussing inventory along the road, Marco began to formulate a better plan. <br/><br/>Aside from his <em> legal </em> obligation to the dozen or so members of the guild that were officially under his employment, there was also that ever prevalent <b>moral</b> obligation. <br/><br/>Responsibility might have been the better word, though. He picked the majority of them himself, some of which had never even <em> been </em> to other countries before. <br/><br/>Lesley in particular was <em> not </em> a fan of being dragged to Laurel’s capital of all places, but, Marco had paid him enough for it to be worth it. <br/><br/>Regardless of how any of them felt about him or not, though, as their boss or as a friend, none of them would take kindly to him hiding his laughably poor judgement for much longer than he already was. <br/><br/>At face value, it really <em> wasn’t </em> such a big deal. He’d been given stricter time limits for items that he <em> knew </em> would be near impossible to inquire. How much harder could it be to entertain <b>one</b> seer? <br/><br/>Maybe deep down in his core, Marco knew it wasn’t going to be <em> simple </em> . Not without help, anyway. <br/><br/><br/>“I know we haven’t said anything yet,” Marco started, idly staring at one of the few fires in the clearing they’d made their camp this time around. Dinner had come and gone a little while ago, and they all were close to finished catching each other up on everything. <br/><br/>He waited until conversations found their natural pauses, and for the murmurs to die down before he continued. “But, Jean found out <em> exactly </em> which seer kept stealing from us.” <br/><br/>Had there been even a whisper leftover, or an inattentive glance before? There definitely wasn’t now. <br/><br/>Marco looked up from the small fire to take a quick glance at everyone else, gauging their feelings as best he could in the dimming light. <br/><br/>“Yesterday night, I met with him, and, he’s agreed to leave <em> our </em> inventory alone.” <br/><br/>Jean sent a very obvious glare towards Sasha, head snapping to the group around another fire. <br/><br/>Sasha’s brows raised for a moment, but her face relaxed again. She gave a shrug with the arm she wasn’t propped up against on the ground. <br/><br/>“I thought he was going to a brothel! Honest.” <br/><br/>Jean scoffed loudly, not even attempting to hide his frustration, but didn’t speak a word as he returned his attention to Marco. <br/><br/>There’d be talk about the unsaid words there, and the attitude, of course. Marco wasn’t really concerned with that, not with this group. They weren’t in the city, and they weren’t at home, either. <br/><br/>“But he…” Marco breathed out his nose. “He <em> wants something </em> in return. He has no idea what he wants, and <b> <em>I </em> </b> certainly don’t know what he wants.” <br/><br/>No doubt there was confusion spread amongst them, but Marco didn’t read it on any of their faces. <br/><br/>“We’ve had worse clients before. And as some, <em> weird </em> kind of bonus, he’s offering <em> information </em> as a kind of incentive.” <br/><br/>He tried to make a point to look on the bright side, as he knew he was giving them very little to go off of. <br/><br/>“But, I’m not sure what seers like, <em> or </em> what the members of the main church in Willow’s Hill even care about. We’re not,” Marco blinked and took another quick survey of everyone. “ <b> <em>From here</em> </b> … and I’m being honest here, I don’t know where to <em> begin </em> .” <br/><br/>“Ah, you plan on telling us their <em> name </em> at all? Anything else about him?” Sasha actually sat up, pulling a notebook from her pack. Marco tried not to notice the broken pocket watch that also slid its way out along with some pens. <br/><br/>“No name. Nothing else-- <em> Except </em> that they weren’t a fan of the wind chimes I had ordered. We still have a few, if you want to look at them.” <br/><br/>They were saved an uncomfortable silence by the fires and Sasha’s scribbling. <br/><br/>“Do we have a budget?” Natalie asked with as much professional curiosity and respect as any of them would with a regular request. She was older, a bit more mature, and a regular member of the smaller group that never went into Willow’s Hill. <br/><br/>“It doesn’t matter how much it costs; I’m paying for it.” Marco truly didn’t care <em> how much </em> it would cost to get out of his mutual debt. <br/><br/>“ <b> <em>No</em> </b> , that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try bartering!” He quickly added on with a smile. Marco knew all too well at how much <em> some </em> members of the guild liked to go wild when money wasn’t part of the equation. <br/><br/>“That’s all, really. Just… treat this like any other private client.” Marco dropped the pleasantry. “Be discreet.” <br/><br/>Who knew what might happen if someone with a good sense for opportunity heard that the Silver Feather’s Guild was doing some mysterious job for a deeply religious seer. <br/><br/>Marco relaxed some, but he did watch for any uneasiness. Everyone knew by now that if they had a problem with something, all they had to do was <em> say </em> something. <br/><br/>But, he hadn’t been wrong. They were good at handling difficult, ‘private clients’, and Armin would be an interesting challenge. Marco would have to start asking around about the culture and history of Willow’s Hill. <em> Deeper </em> than he’d initially felt the need to when they started selling out here. <br/><br/>“Can we talk?” <br/><br/>Marco blinked, startled. He looked up to see Jean staring down at him, face still cross as it had been earlier when he’d sent Sasha his wordless scolding. <br/><br/>They shared a short look, and Jean walked away towards the carts. <br/><br/>Marco watched until Jean disappeared around one of them. He stood up slowly, taking a deep breath, and followed after him. <br/><br/>He imagined this would be akin to being yelled at by a disappointed parent? He wouldn’t like it, being <em> yelled at </em> , that is. Or yelled at as loud as Jean would allow himself. <br/><br/>“What are you doing?” <br/><br/>Marco was surprised, but glad, that Jean’s voice wasn’t raised even a little bit. The moons’ light was only just enough to make out the concern on Jean’s face that was all too familiar. Like the day they’d first arrived in Willow’s Hill barely over a week ago. <br/><br/>“I <em> know </em> , you warned--” <br/>“ <b>No</b> , I mean… what are you <em> doing </em> , Marco?” <br/><br/>Jean huffed, breathing air out his nose as he straightened himself upright, looking Marco dead on. <br/><br/>“Why would you go looking for some witch like that <em> alone </em> ?” <br/><br/>Marco snorted, “He came looking for <em> me </em> , actually. And I, I don’t know, Jean. He wasn’t <em> dangerous </em> , he was just….” <br/><br/>A bit stuck up, honestly. Sure there were multiple threats, and he was <em> technically </em> being blackmailed right now. But Marco didn’t get the sense that Armin had any real intention to hurt him, or his business. <br/><br/>“That!” Jean snapped, shaking his head. “ <em> That </em> is what I’m talking about! Dangerous or <em> not </em> , Marco, I told you his own damn people knew to avoid him. When have you <b>ever</b> ignored information like that?” <br/><br/>The edge of Marco’s lips twitched, begging to smile. <br/><br/>“Quite a <em> few </em> times, actually. But, no, I know. I know what you mean.” He turned away to stare at the moons instead. The seriousness of Jean’s demeanor was making him uncomfortable. <br/><br/>“How did he convince you into a deal like this?” <br/><br/>Marco’s face relaxed, and he gave a gentle shrug. <br/><br/>“Bad news, is? He thinks we have no reason to keep this thieving and my, <em> assault </em> , to ourselves instead of telling someone in charge.” <br/><br/>Jean clicked his tongue, “And the <em> good news </em> is, what? Blackmail?” <br/><br/>“The <em> good news is </em> ,” Marco gave Jean a short glance. “He doesn’t think they’d kill me if he told the truth. Prison, probably.” He bit the inside of one of his cheeks, trying to keep himself from smiling. <br/><br/>“Oh, great. Love that optimism.” <br/><br/>“Well, he has a point!” Marco laughed, looking back to the sky. “What do <em> you </em> think would happen if they executed someone with a royal permit for sell <em> and </em> travel?” <br/><br/>“...The same thing that would happen if one of their precious <em> seers </em> was executed.” Jean sighed with exasperation, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead. <br/><br/>“And you <em> really </em> don’t have a single inkling as to what he’s looking for?” <br/><br/>Marco shook his head and leaned it back, letting it tap against the wood of the cart. <br/><br/>“He, <b> <em>hated</em> </b> those wind chimes. So I really don’t think I’m the best judge as to what he’s interested in.” <br/><br/>Jean groaned. <br/><br/>For some quiet moments, there was just the tense realization between them that there really was no simple solution. No quick trick or extravagant trade off to make. <br/><br/>Stepping in front of Marco, suddenly, Jean gave him a much fiercer, more determined expression. <br/><br/>“What <em> kind </em> of information do you think you can get out of him?” <br/><br/>Marco blinked, and backed up on instinct only to be pushed back by the heavy, unmoving cart. <br/><br/>“...I don’t <em> know </em> Jean. The people you talked to, the ones who gave you Armin’s name? Did they not explicitly say dealing with him was just an extra <em> risk </em> ? He either doesn’t know anything special or, I don’t know, it would be too obvious he was the one who <em> did </em> tell us something if it was even useful. Or am I missing something?” <br/><br/>Jean gave a short nod, “They weren’t <em> seers </em> , though. They were just… ordinary. Not very pious, either? If you ask me. I don’t know what you two talked about, but <em> please </em> think, Marco. You must think he has <em> some </em> kind of valu--....” <br/><br/>He cut himself off, taking a half step back. <br/><br/>Marco ignored the implication. “We did meet in these <em> old </em> tunnels. He said no one’s ever down there without a seer, because of <em> ghosts </em> . Aside from that, Jean, I honestly don’t know. Maybe he’s right and these, <em> Gardeners </em> do hear more than people mean for them to.” <br/><br/>There might’ve been something to be had there. It was useless to mention, but Armin <em> did </em> seem like he knew his history. If Sasha made anything clear to Jean and Marco both, it was how important things like history could be for all manner of things. <br/><br/>Of course, the odds of Armin, or <em> any </em> seer, really, sitting on a pile of ancient treasure or relics was slim. It wouldn’t hurt to ask next time, though. <br/><br/>Jean didn’t return to his place beside Marco. He turned around, shoved his hands into his pockets, and stared back at the winding road they’d traveled on. There was no seeing the city from here, though Marco assumed that’s where his thoughts were. <br/><br/>“Can’t use money. Can’t have sex. Can’t travel. Can’t read. Ca--” <br/>“What?” <br/><br/>Jean didn’t look back to him. “I’m complaining about all the stupid things those <em> Naturalist witches </em> aren’t allowed to do! They can’t do <em> anything </em> ! How’re we supposed to narrow any of that down?” <br/><br/>While Jean was <em> right </em> , Marco was sure that any seer, if they spoke to the right person, could have whatever they asked for. Money, sex, a way out, books, entertainment…. <br/><br/>Marco closed his eyes and took another deep breath, letting out a long sigh. They needed more information. “What <em> do </em> you get someone who doesn’t want or need anything?” <br/><br/>“Nothing!” Jean grumbled, grinding the tip of one of his boots into the dirt. <br/><br/>With amusement, Marco thought that <em> maybe </em> , that was exactly it. <br/><br/>Absolutely <em> nothing </em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I just feel like I need to get this out of the way because I'm not going to have a reason to address it later? Jean's not like, racist against seer's or something ok? There's just a massive culture difference and seer's are just called something else where Jean's from. Witches aren't a bad thing, they're just another word for the same thing.</p><p>Comment perhaps? Follow my tumblr blog of the same name?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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